No Rest for the Wicked
by PrettyPoppy
Summary: Complete! After Spike leaves for Africa, Buffy begins encountering him in her dreams. Disgusted and horrified, she is helpless to make it stop. Ultimately, Buffy must discover for herself that there is only one thing that can make the nightmares end. S/B
1. Chapter One

Title: No Rest for the Wicked

Author: PrettyPoppy

Summary: Two months after Spike leaves for Africa, Buffy begins encountering him in her dreams. Disgusted and horrified, she is helpless to make them stop. Ultimately, Buffy must discover for herself that there is only one thing that can make the nightmares end. Post "Grave." 

Author's Notes: Although I have loved the Spike/Buffy interaction in Season 7, there is a part of me that feels that what happened between them in "Seeing Red" was glossed over way too easily on the show. This is simply another version of how Spike and Buffy could have found their way back to each other - without Spike being insane and without The First being involved. There is a strong "Fool For Love" influence here, as evidenced by the first scene alone. I will also be freely referencing other episodes throughout, as that's half the fun. Rated R 

WARNING: Much of this story takes place in Spike and Buffy's dreams. In two of these instances, Spike dreams that he actually succeeds in raping Buffy. The scenes are not gratuitous, but they are graphic enough to get the point across. I thought it was only fair to warn people before they begin reading, as it's not my intention to offend anyone.

Feedback: Yes, please. PrettyPoppy@worldnet.att.net

Distribution: If you want it, just let me know

Disclaimer: Joss is a god. The rest of us are just his lowly minions. I own nothing. Joss owns everything.

***

Chapter One

__

The room was spinning. She could feel the warmth of a dozen bodies pressing in around her, the sound of a dozen voices all speaking at once. It was hot. Hot and stuffy. She could feel her chest constricting, her ribs incased in a viselike grip. She was suffocating.

She tried to focus on something, anything. She needed to know where she was and what was going on.

She heard a humming around her. The low, dizzying hum of a myriad voices all chattering at once. Everything was hazy and she couldn't seem to remember where she was. 

Suddenly, a clear, familiar voice broke through the chaos.

"So, we'll get this done as quickly as possible, and then all will be well."

Buffy turned around to see Giles standing behind her. He was dressed rather strangely, she thought. Typical snooty English attire, but even more snooty than usual - if that were possible. There was something outdated and formal about his suit. Then Buffy looked down at her own clothes.

She was wearing a powder blue gown, with a full skirt, and apparently some sort of bustle thingy in the back. She couldn't see the bustle, but she could certainly feel it. Instinctively, her hands flew to her chest, to the iron grip that was cutting off her oxygen. But there was nothing there. No demon, no vampire trying to squeeze the life out of her. Just the confines of a whalebone corset. As Buffy scanned the room, she realized that she was not dressed all that differently than the other women present. 

"So what exactly are we doing here?" Buffy asked. She couldn't remember why Giles had brought her here.

"There's some information we need to acquire that was not accessible any other way. You'll be fine Buffy. Just mingle, and well, at least try not to get into any trouble."

"Giles, please, I think I can handle myself. This is Victorian England after all. Isn't it?" Buffy was unsure. "What possible trouble could I get into?"

"Right. What trouble indeed? Just do your best. Follow your instincts."

"Follow my instincts?" Buffy turned to look at Giles again. "What the heck is that supposed to . . .?"

But he was already gone

Buffy meandered through the crowd, doing her best to "follow her instincts." Whatever that was supposed to mean. Those very instincts led her to the far edge of the room where she found a long sofa beckoning for her to take her ease. 

Buffy absently pulled off her gloves and flopped down on the brocaded couch. "I wish I had something to stake," she mumbled to herself.

"Pardon me?" a very sweet, almost familiar voice, asked from the seat beside her.

Buffy turned her head, which was lazily resting on the back of the couch, and looked at her companion. "Oh nothing. You wouldn't . . ." Buffy froze. Her mouth fell open and she stared, wide-eyed and shocked, at the "stranger" beside her.

Buffy felt like she was about to fall through the floor. There, sitting in the chair beside her, was William. William! Spike's William. William the Bloody. The one and only. 

Buffy tried to breathe, but found she couldn't. 

"Is there something wrong? Have I upset you?" he asked, suddenly alarmed.

"Nooo," came her slow reply. "No, it's not that." Buffy pulled herself up in her seat and moved closer to him. How very much like Spike he looked. "It's just, you remind me of someone."

"Someone not so pleasant, apparently."

Buffy couldn't help but smile at that. "He has his moments."

"Well, a true gentleman is always considerate of a lady. He does not need to just 'have his moments.'"

Buffy felt her heart beginning to race. It was Spike, but it wasn't Spike. It had been so long since she had seem him, she hadn't realized just how very much she had missed him. Even though this was indeed William, she couldn't turn away. Somehow even he had managed to captivate her. 

"So, you're William, right?" she asked, at a loss for anything else to say.

"You know me?" He seemed genuinely surprised.

"By reputation. I've heard about your poetry," she said, motioning toward the paper and pen he held in his lap.

"Ah, well, it isn't terribly good, but it is heartfelt."

The words "bloody awful" danced through her mind, but she knew better than to say anything. 

"I scarcely think we should be talking though, as we have not been properly introduced."

"I'm Buffy," she said, extending her hand to him in a forthright gesture. 

He seemed stunned. He just stared at her hand for a moment, apparently unsure of what to do with it. 

A small sigh escaped her throat, as she turned her hand a little, offering it this time to be kissed, and not shaken. "Miss Buffy Anne Summers."

William brightened a little, finally in his element. Gently, he took Buffy's hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss.

The simple caress was a shock for Buffy. His lips were so warm, unlike Spike's. She reveled in the feel of them against her skin, heat spreading through her body unbidden. His hand was warm too, the contact between them exquisite.

He was so much like Spike, it was frightening. He had the power to affect her even with the simplest touch. So, he had a high body temperature, dark hair, and a pair of spectacles. In every other way he was the man she knew. The same sapphire blue eyes, the same high cheekbones, the same beautiful mouth. Buffy stared at that mouth as he looked up at her quizzically. She shook herself and tried to focus on purer thoughts.

They sat there for a moment in silence. Buffy pretended not to stare, but she was having serious difficulty. She was entranced by him, utterly and completely fascinated. Spike was evil, but William was good and faultless. He couldn't be held responsible for the things Spike had done. Something in him called to Buffy. She couldn't explain what it was, but she needed to connect with him. 

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. Feeling increasingly frustrated, she broke the silence. "William?"

"Yes?"

"How about some fresh air?" Buffy bounded out of her seat and grabbed his hand, dragging him with her. She needed to get out, out of the stuffy confines of the room, and into the night air. She needed to be alone with William. Something inside of her was driving her to him. 

"Uh, no, wait. We can't go out there alone. People will talk." He tried to pull away.

"Then let them talk."

Buffy dragged him out into the alleyway beside the large, London townhouse. It wasn't much different from the alleys in her own Sunnydale. 

She pulled him over to the wall of the building and cornered him there. 

"Well, that was lovely. Had all the fresh air we need. Now, let's go back inside," he said, as he tried to get passed her.

"Not so fast," she said, reaching out and resting her hands on either side of him. "I want to talk to you."

"We can just as easily talk inside as . . ."

Buffy didn't let him finish. In a moment of pure insanity, driven only by instinct, she lifted up on her toes and kissed him soundly on the mouth. 

He stood there frozen, his body refusing to respond in any way to her advance. 

She pulled back. "It's all right," she whispered against his lips.

"No, I'm afraid it's not." His voice trembled. "Really, Miss Summers, this is quite unseemly."

"No it's not. It's not like we've never done this before." 

"Excuse me?" he asked, finally regaining some of his courage. "I can assure you that we have never done this_ before."_

"Another time, another place." She laid her hand on his chest and stared up into his eyes. 

He flinched at the contact. "I don't know what you're talking about. But I would very much like it if you would let me go now. I have never in my life disrespected a lady, but if you do not remove your hand from my person, I may be forced to manhandle you."

Buffy smiled. She couldn't help it. She knew that technically, this wasn't Spike, and yet, how many times had she seen this side of him? The man in front of her was a part of Spike. Perhaps the deepest, most important part. The part that made him capable of loving, in spite of not having a soul. The part of him that could be sweet, and tender, and romantic. The part of him that could cry. She wanted to know that part, much more intimately.

She searched his eyes, captivated by their brilliance. They were so very much like Spike's - but somehow deeper - if that were possible. There was a spark there she had never seen before. Something warm and alive. Something she couldn't pull away from. "Would you like to manhandle me?" she asked.

She heard him choke.

Buffy took a step back, never breaking eye contact. "Do you believe in vampires, William?"

"What?" He was genuinely confused.

"Vampires. You know, the undead? Bloodsucking fiends that stalk their prey at night? Vampires?"

"Yes, I know what vampires are. But I certainly do not believe in them. Just fairy stories, made up to scare children."

Buffy sensed that they had scared him as a child. "Well, they're real."

"Preposterous!"

"Oh really?" Buffy reached into the small purse attached to her dress and pulled out a stake. "Then why do I carry this around?"

She moved up closer to him, and pressed the stake against his chest. He inhaled a sharp breath at the contact. 

"I have no idea. You are a very peculiar girl. Are you sure that you haven't escaped from Bedlam?"

"I'm the Slayer."

"The Slayer?" he asked, as if talking to a child. "And what might that be?"

"I'll show you." Buffy put the stake back in her purse and retreated a few steps. "I realize that you've apparently never attacked a woman before. But, for argument's sake? I want you to try."

"You want me to what?" He stared at her aghast.

"Attack me. Trust me. It'll be fun."

"I most certainly will not. And if you do not desist this instant, in these lunatic ramblings, I shall be forced to call a constable." He looked up and down the empty street as if looking for someone to help him back up his threat.

"It's just an experiment. Jeez, Spike. Give it a rest."

"Spike?"

"Yeah. Look," she refused to explain, "just come at me. Consider it your moral duty. If you catch me, you can turn me in to the nearest constable and see that I'm safely locked away, where I will no longer be a threat to myself or society. All right?"

He looked at her skeptically.

"Oh come on!"

"Very well. But only because it is my moral duty. You are a very sick girl, Miss Summers. A very sick girl."

"Tell me about it," she whispered under her breath.

William took a tentative step toward her, and Buffy wanted to laugh. Apparently, William didn't possess quite the same survival instincts as Spike. He seemed scared to come near her. 

Buffy glared at him, hands on her hips, clearly exasperated. "Sometime before the beginning of the Edwardian era."

He moved a little more quickly, coming to a stop right in front of her. Then, he reached out his hand and tried to grab her arm.

Buffy quickly countered his move, grabbing him instead, and flipping him over onto his back. He hit the ground with a sickening "thud." He didn't move.

Buffy approached him cautiously. She knelt down beside him, trying her best not to panic. His eyes were closed, and she couldn't tell if he was breathing. "William?"

He slowly opened his eyes. "Ow!" He brought his hand to the back of his head and rubbed the offended area. "I'm sorry, but are you completely and totally insane? I think you broke something." He tried to sit up, but was having difficulty. 

Buffy helped him.

"Really Miss, I think you should go. Please. I don't know who you are, or what you want, but I'm not a man to be trifled with. I've heard tales of London pickpockets. I never knew they were such a breed of lunatics, though. If it's money you want," he pulled out his purse, and offered her several crisp bills, "take what you like and just leave me alone."

Buffy took both the money and the purse from his hands. She folded the bills up and put them back in their proper place. Then she reached inside his coat and slipped the whole thing back into his pocket. He sighed heavily when she touched him. 

"William . . ."

"Miss Summers, please . . ."

Despite his protests, she helped pull him up so that he was standing beside her once more. "I'm sorry."

"That's quite all right Miss. No harm done. Good night." He moved to walk away but she grabbed him again, this time pulling him into a passionate embrace. She kissed him heatedly, trying to arouse that decadent part of him she knew was there. 

It worked. In spite of his former protests, she could feel his arousal. 

He started kissing her back. He was less experienced than Spike, but what he lacked in experience, he made up for in innate sensuality. His lips were so soft, so warm, and she could tell he was trying desperately to please her. 

Finally, remembering himself, he pulled back. "Miss Summers . . ."

"Don't." Buffy pulled him to her, and kissed him again. 

His hands gently began stroking the bare flesh of her arms, then moved lower to her waist. Buffy took the initiative, and pushed him back up against the wall. She entwined her fingers in his hair - his beautiful, dark, wild hair. So unlike Spike's. She pulled off his glasses and threw them aside. He tried to protest, but she recaptured his mouth with her own, silencing him. 

Buffy leaned closer, her limbs trembling, her heart thrumming against her ribs. It had been so long. So long since she had been close to him. So long since she had been able to touch him. It felt like a lifetime.

He lowered his head and began kissing her neck. "Spike, I want you," she moaned softly. Spike?"

"Yes luv?" He looked up at her, yellow eyes gleaming, lumpies in full force.

"Spike?!" she screamed in alarm, as he bared his fangs and bit into her neck.

Buffy's eyes shot open and she sat up in bed. She was shaking. Her limbs were trembling and she was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "Oh my God." She brought her hand to her mouth and sat there in shock. Spike. She was dreaming about Spike. Oh God, why?

It had been two months since Buffy had seen Spike. Two months since he had left town. Since that horrible night. She tried never to think of him. During her waking hours, whenever her mind wandered to thoughts of him, she always forced herself out of it. He was a monster. He had proven it once again. Once and for all. He had tried to rape her. What more proof did she need? She swore she would never again be weak enough to trust him. So, why was she doing this to herself? Why was she seeing him in her dreams? Worse, why was she trying to have sex with him in her dreams? 

Buffy lay back down and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself back to sleep. It didn't work. The instant her eyes closed, she saw him, hovering before her. Those eyes, haunting her. What was it about his eyes? There was something different about them. They were unmistakably Spike's, but there was something else. 

Frustrated, Buffy groaned and threw off the covers, moving to stand by her open window. She needed the fresh air to calm her nerves. 

Oh God, what was wrong with her? She had dreamt about William. William! Not Spike. Why was she dreaming about seducing William? And why had it seemed so real? A desperately real and vivid dream. She had wanted him, wanted him more than she had ever imagined. Wanted him to be Spike more than she had ever imagined. 

Buffy wrapped her arms about herself protectively and stared out, unseeing, into the darkness. Her body still trembled with unfulfilled desire. What was wrong with her? The fact that she had sought out William in her dream and not Spike, made little difference. She had allowed herself to want William in her dream because William was safe. William was good. William had not tried to brutally rape her. She knew all that. But she also knew that secretly, deep down inside, it was Spike - not William - from whom she had truly been seeking fulfillment.

It was wrong to want a man who had tried to violate you. Buffy knew that. She knew she couldn't trust Spike. That he truly was evil and that it was over. But somehow, her mind and body weren't convinced. Why were her own senses betraying her? What was she trying to tell herself? 

She wanted Spike, she knew that. But no matter what happened in her dreams, she knew she could never trust him. Never again. 

***

"So, Giles just handed you over to Spike? Kind of a handed you off and gave Spike his blessing?" Xander asked, as he watched a very distraught Buffy rummage around the kitchen for the pancake mix. 

"No. He didn't just give me to Spike. It was kind of . . . oh, I don't know. He just left me there. And it wasn't Spike, it was William." Buffy found the mix hidden in the back of one of the kitchen cabinets, then she moved down the counter and pulled out a mixing bowl.

"William? Spike? Buffy, I'm not sure I'm liking this."

"Well, neither am I." Buffy hadn't wanted to tell Xander about the dream, but it was haunting her, and she didn't know what else do to. There was no one else to confide in. Willow was in England with Giles, and Dawn would definitely not be too keen on hearing any stories that involved her sister consorting with Spike, in human form or not. "It's not exactly my idea of a fun, enjoyable evening - making out with William the Bloody Awful Poet in a dark alley."

"Right. Of course." He didn't quite seem to believe her.

"Anyway," Buffy glared at him, "it was gross. And disturbing. And I'd really like to have my memory expunged sometime real soon."

"Maybe this is just something you have to go through, Buff. Maybe it's part of the healing process. Just think, a few more dreams like that, and maybe you'll actually get around to killing him."

Buffy gave him a dark look. 

"Okay, maybe a few more dreams like that, and you'll end up killing yourself. Look Buff," he got up and moved closer to her, "it was just a dream. It doesn't have to mean anything. Not everything we dream does, you know? If it did, I'd be in serious trouble. Did I ever tell you the one about me, my mom and good old Mr. Gordo?"

"Ewww. Thankfully, no. Look, Xander, I'm trying. But it's hard. With Willow gone, and Giles gone, and all the turmoil of the last couple of months, I don't know where my head is at. I'll try to do better though. If Spike tries showing up in my dreams again tonight, I promise, I'll stake him.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

__

There was blood everywhere - on the walls, in the streets. The air tasted of it, tangy and acrid. The smell of fear was overwhelming. God, he loved that smell! Pure, unbridled, animal fear. It made his borrowed blood sing.

Spike entered the temple with a spring in his step, and a song beating in his undead heart. "Here Slayer, Slayer, Slayer," he called.

He liked this game. He really did. Hunting Slayers. Usually, he found that violence was its own reward. But tonight, oh tonight, the spoils would be extra sweet. He could almost taste the Slayer blood on his lips.

"Where are you?" he asked, looking behind one pillar and then another. "Why not come out and play with dear old Spike?"

Before he knew what hit him, a girl came flying at him from out of nowhere. She surprised him with a quick kick to his midsection, and then punched him solidly in the face when he doubled over. He barely caught a glimpse of her, before she struck him with her fist a second time.

Something was wrong. He had come to China looking for the Slayer. The_ Slayer. From all accounts, she was a small, Oriental girl. Not a blonde. Spike called upon all his reserves and, with concerted effort, was able to catch her fist the next time it flew through the air._

"So, now, Goldilocks? Just who do you think you are?"

"Your worst nightmare," she spit back at him.

"Oh I see, I see. Is that what you really think? Well, let me tell you something, little girl. I don't have nightmares. I am one." He pulled her arm behind her back viciously and laughed in her ear when he heard her wince in pain. "That's right. Let's hear you cry pet."

He moved to take a bite out of her well-exposed neck, but before his fangs could make contact, she brought the heel of her boot down painfully on his toes. "Bloody hell!" he screamed as he let her go. Damn, she was strong! Not your ordinary little girl. Was that what Slayer strength was like? How could she be the Slayer? It wasn't possible.

Before he could fully recover, she came at him again, pure hatred burning behind her eyes. She took another swing at him, landing a crippling punch to his gut. Caught off balance, he fell to the floor, and she advanced on him. 

"Go ahead Spike. You want to hurt me? Now's your chance."

A low, growling sound rumbled somewhere deep in his chest. He repositioned himself and then sprang for her, catching her at the knees and dragging her to the ground. She was pinned beneath him. He could feel her body writhing against his. "Is this what you want Slayer? You want me to take you?"

"You couldn't if you tried."

Instinct spurring him on, he grabbed for her wrists and brought them up beside her head. A rage was burning inside of him, unlike anything he had ever felt before. He couldn't control it. She struggled with him, and suddenly he found himself staring down into her eyes, a completely new sensation filling him. Something beyond mere bloodlust. He wanted her, and he was going to have her. 

He let go of one of her arms, and lowered his hand to tear at her clothes. He had the vague sense that she was crying, pleading with him, but he couldn't hear anything, only the deafening sound of her heart pounding wildly, of the blood rushing through her veins. 

"Slayer," he growled as his hand moved lower. "Buffy." He unzipped her pants and moved his hand inside, touching her at her very core. He felt her struggle even more, but he wouldn't let her go. He positioned himself to move inside her, and finally, her words began to penetrate his muddled brain.

"Please, Spike, don't. Please," she begged him.

But he wouldn't listen. He had to have her. He drove inside her.

She screamed. "Spike!"

Spike opened his eyes, pure terror coursing through his veins. "Oh God!" He was reliving it. He always relived it, every night, every day. But this time was different. This time it had been real. 

He pushed himself up from his pallet on the floor, and stepped out into the night. He was breathing heavily, he didn't know why. Vampires didn't need to breathe. But right now, it was all his body could do to sustain him. 

He had been in Africa for two months now. After getting his soul back, he had fallen into unspeakable despair. Once he'd managed to crawl out of that cave, the local shaman had found him and taken him back to the village, to be nursed. He knew the locals were only trying to help, but truth be told, all Spike wanted was to burn in the sun. It was all he deserved.

It had all come back to him, once he had gotten the soul. Everything he had ever done. But somehow, nothing in all the atrocities he had committed, could compare to his hurting Buffy. He loved her, and he had tried to violate her in the most unspeakable way. He had failed, of course. But it didn't matter. The intention had been there, and he knew now, for certain, that if she hadn't have stopped him, he would have gone through with it. 

He didn't deserve to exist. He turned around and looked at the hut behind him, searching for something, anything that might end his torment. There were no torches lit tonight, no accessible weapons visible, not even a simple piece of wood to pierce his own heart with. Even so, there had to be a way. And he would find it.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

__

Everything was black. There was a low rumbling sound all around her. She could feel the earth shaking beneath her feet. Nearly losing her balance, she reached out to steady herself, her hand instinctively slipping around the sleek, cold, metal bar beside her. Suddenly, the lights flashed back on, and Buffy found herself in another nightmare.

He was standing in front of her, more cocky and self-assured than she had ever seen him. There was a lust for blood and violence in his eyes that was chilling. He moved toward her stealthily, like a predator waiting to make its first move. Buffy barely had time to register her surroundings before he came at her, striking her soundly with his fist.

She tried to return the blow, but he was too quick for her, punching her again and again. Buffy's head was swimming. It was all too much to take in. She was fighting Spike. But not her Spike. New York Spike. The Spike who had killed the second Slayer. They were on the subway; the movement of the car disorienting, the swiftness of his attack too much to comprehend. 

Buffy fought to regain her composure. He threw another punch, but this time she was able to block it, countering with her own attack. She hit him hard in the face, and then kicked him in the stomach. 

Buffy retreated several steps, trying to regain some ground, trying to assess the situation. He was going to kill her. He wanted to kill her. She could see it in his eyes. This was fun for him. A game. 

A slow smile spread across his lips as he regained his control and moved toward her. Buffy knew she was fighting for her life. She looked around her, trying to find some sort of weapon, but there was precious little at her disposal. She grabbed onto the pole beside her and swung herself around, her feet making contact with his chest as she did so. He fell onto the bench beside him, and Buffy made her move.

Advancing on him quickly, she pounded into him once again, her fists doing all the work. If it was a fight he wanted, it was a fight he was going to get. She lashed out at him, trying to summon up the fury she knew she should be feeling, trying to calm the fear that threatened to overpower her. 

They had never fought like this before. There was no wordplay, no verbal sparring between them. Just the cold, hard reality of fist against flesh. It was frightening. She didn't know him, couldn't connect with him. When he looked at her, all he saw was his prey. There was no recognition behind his familiar blue eyes. In spite of the fact that her life was at stake, Buffy desperately wanted to see that recognition, desperately wanted to make that connection with him. But no matter how many times she struck him, she couldn't break through. 

Finally, Spike was able to counter her attack, grabbing one of her fists and pushing her away from him. She landed hard on the seat behind her. He got up, and advanced toward her. He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her up to stand in front of him. Then he took another swing and hit her again. And again. 

Buffy had had enough. In an effortless move, she swept her leg behind his, knocking him off balance, and sending him to the floor. She wasn't going to let him kill her. Not for anything.

Before he could move, Buffy came down on top of him, straddling his body. She pulled out her stake and held it to his chest. He stared up at her, defiant, a look of satisfaction still in his eyes. She raised the stake to strike, but suddenly, everything went black.

Momentarily disoriented, Buffy lost her hold on the stake, as Spike's hands snaked up and grabbed her wrists. She heard the sickening clank of wood against metal, as it hit the floor beside her. Buffy struggled to keep the advantage, tightening the grip she had on his body with her knees, but it was too much. Her mind thick with confusion, he overpowered her, and flipped her onto her back. 

When the lights came back on, Buffy found herself beneath him. He had his hands wrapped around her neck, and she knew what was coming. She didn't want to die. She didn't have a death wish. Suddenly, she realized, she wanted something else. 

He let go of her neck, intent on repositioning his hands so he could break it, instead of strangling her. Buffy used the opportunity to take what she wanted.

In one movement, she brought both her hands to the back of his head, and pulled him down to kiss her. She devoured his mouth, seeking the deep satisfaction she had been so long denied. 

He seemed stunned at first, but quickly gave in to her advances, reaching down her body and touching her intimately. 

Buffy wanted this, more than anything. She wanted him. To feel him inside her. It didn't matter what he looked like, or where they were. This was Spike. And God help her, she wanted Spike.

Buffy ran her hands along his back pulling him closer. He moved to lay flush on top of her, and then parted her legs to settle between them. Buffy moaned at his touch. He wanted her too, and he was going to take her. 

In an instant, life and death and sex were all wrapped up in each other. She needed him to live, needed him to die. 

Not a single word was spoken, as he pushed her clothing aside and penetrated her in one hard movement. Buffy nearly screamed in ecstasy, at the feel of him inside her. 

He rode her hard. Suddenly, he was more beast than man; the bloodlusting demon that he had always been. Buffy lost herself in it, reveling in the feel of his body commanding hers. She heard him growl, felt his face change against her neck. He was going to bite her, and she didn't care. She threw back her head, giving him complete access to the tender flesh of her throat. He pulled back and then sunk his fangs deeply into her neck. Buffy cried out, as he made contact, her body already beginning to spasm with fulfillment.

Suddenly, the alarm clock went off.

Buffy opened her eyes, a thrill of shock still coursing through her body. She leaned over slowly and hit the "sleep" button. Unable to make any other movement, she lay back down, and pulled the covers snuggly up against her chest.

What was wrong with her? It was getting worse. Her dreams - which had begun a week ago with her comparatively harmless encounter with William - had rapidly escalated into something more. They were becoming more violent - more passionate - with each passing night. And it was beginning to scare her. 

So far Buffy had seen some amazingly disturbing things. She had been with Spike in each one of her dreams, at different moments in his life. She had been with him in London, then China, and innumerable points in between. Now she could add New York to the list. Every dream ended with her seducing him and then him biting her. It was a disturbing pattern. A disturbing pattern that left her hot and trembling every night. Oh God, she prayed it would stop. She'd had about all she could take. 

Buffy closed her eyes for a moment, only to find that when she did, she could still see Spike moving on top of her. She opened them again, and took several deep, steadying breaths. 

"All right Buffy. Now you know that was _not_ good. What is wrong with you?!"


	4. Chapter Four

A/N: First, thanks to everyone who's actually gotten this far. This is a different kind of piece for me, and I know it can be a little disorienting and confusing, but I promise, all will be explained in time. Please just be patient and bear with me. 

Chapter Four

He was on his knees. He could feel the cold, hard pavement beneath him. It was dark. Night. He looked around, searching for anything recognizable. Then his eyes gazed upward and he saw her.

She was standing in front of him, watching him intently. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. Then it dawned on him. He had been here before. They_ had been here before. Many times. The alley behind The Bronze. Why was she staring at him? What did she want? He couldn't seem to remember._

His blood was singing, his body aroused and acutely aware of her presence - her scent, the sound of her breathing. He got up and stood in front of her. He knew this moment. Knew it somewhere in the back of his mind. She wanted something from him. What was it? 

His mind was a blur. "Buffy." It was all he could manage.

"Get out of my sight, Spike. Now." There was a look of pure loathing in her eyes. 

What had he done wrong? "Buffy, I . . ."

"I mean it."

Her rage was infectious. He could feel it beginning to course through his own body, overpowering him. Suddenly, he knew just what to say. His eyes narrowed and he advanced on her. "So do I. Give it me good Buffy," he taunted. "Do it."

"Spike."

He stared down at her, captivated by the fire in her eyes. God, how he wanted her. She was all he had ever wanted. Overcome by his own emotions, he moved in to kiss her.

She pulled back, clearly horrified. "What the hell are you doing?"

He grabbed her. "Come on. I can feel it Slayer. You know you wanna dance."

"Say it's true, say I do want to," she tried to push him away, but he held his grip firm. "It wouldn't be you Spike. It would never be you. You're beneath me."

"Beneath you?" he asked, a dark edge to his voice. "I'll show you 'beneath you.'" He pulled her to him and kissed her violently. 

Desperately, she struggled to break free, but he wouldn't let her go. So, he wasn't good enough for her, huh? He'd show her. 

Spike forced her to the ground and covered her body with his own. "Who's beneath you now, Slayer?"

"Let go of me."

"No, no, no. I want to hear you say it."

She tried to jerk her wrists from his iron grip. "Say what?"

"That you feel it too. That you love me." He released her wrists and let his hands move down her body. 

"No." 

She struggled violently, doing anything she could to break free, but he wouldn't let her go. She wanted him, she needed him. And he was going to prove it to her. He held her fast and stared down at her, his eyes wild and tormented. The words came rushing back to him. "I know you felt it . . . when I was inside you . . ." he began, but she didn't let him finish. 

Summoning all her strength, Buffy pushed him away, and scrambled out from under him. It didn't take Spike long to recapture her. Instinctively he grabbed for her, catching her by the ankle and dragging her back to him. He turned her over and straddled her once again. "You'll feel it again, Buffy . . . I'm gonna make you feel it." He tore at the coat she was wearing and laid his hand on her breast. Then he moved lower to explore the rest of her body.

He could feel her struggling, hear her pleading with him to stop. But he wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop. He would take what was his. It was only fitting. He was a monster, after all. And it was about damn time she realized it.

"Stop, please!" she screamed, but he wouldn't listen.

He tore at her clothing, and in one reckless moment, he pushed himself inside of her. 

__

Buffy screamed again, the sound reverberating though his brain. _Suddenly, all he could hear was her screaming. The sound consuming him, enveloping him. _

A moment later, Spike woke up in a fury of terror.

Spike opened his eyes and pulled himself up, leaning against the cold wall of the cave. Why wouldn't it stop? What did he have to do to make it stop?

For weeks he had been haunted. Every night it was the same. So, the places weren't always the same, the circumstance sometimes different, but it was always her. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. And every time he allowed himself to sleep, he dreamed of raping her. God, now he knew what eternal torment was. There was no damnation like the damnation of a guilty soul. It plagued him, night after night. Never letting him forget. Never letting him have a moment's rest. He knew he didn't deserve peace, but it didn't make it any less painful. It killed him that he had tried to hurt Buffy. He died every time he saw her in his dreams. He had never meant to hurt her. But he knew he had.

Spike pushed himself up, using the wall for support. He was now living in an ancient cave he had found on the edge of the African plain. The villagers who had rescued him, had become too much for him to bear. He wanted to die, and they wouldn't let him. He had come here to find the courage to end his existence. He just hadn't quite managed it yet. Every morning when he looked outside at the bright, rising sun, he'd swear to himself that this was the day. And then, a nagging voice in the back of his head would say, "But have you suffered enough?" Every day, he realized the answer was "No." He could never suffer enough for what he had done to Buffy. He deserved to suffer in torment for all eternity.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

__

Her body felt the rush before anything else. The blood was coursing through her veins at an alarming speed, buzzing and humming. She was consumed by a fury that overpowered all her senses. Her heart was beating fast, her breath coming in quick bursts, her flesh pulsating as her muscles twitched beneath her skin. She could feel something under her. A body. A very cold body.

Slowly, her vision came into focus, and Buffy realized that she was on top of Spike, beating him to a bloody pulp. 

Her fists were swinging of there own accord, as she landed punch after punch. He didn't fight her; made no move to defend himself. What was wrong with him? Didn't he know they were mortal enemies? Didn't he know that she hated him?

Buffy pounded into him, letting her rage overtake her. He had hurt her, violated her in a way that no one else ever had. She would make him pay. 

Her mind in ravenous turmoil, Buffy found herself screaming at him. "How could you? How could you, after you told me loved me?" She hit him again. "I trusted you, and you hurt me." She landed another punch.

She searched his eyes for any defiance, any hint that he meant to do her harm. But there was none. He was staring up at her, his gaze a heartbreaking combination of longing and guilt. His left eye was starting to swell shut, and Buffy forced herself not to lose her resolve.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothin' to say, pet," he choked out. "You're right. Kill me. I deserve it."

"Damn right you deserve it." Tears beginning to mist her eyes, Buffy pulled back her fist and struck him again. She had to. She had to hurt him. To show him that he couldn't do that to her again. To make him pay. 

"I will kill you," she said, her voice trembling as she continued to beat him. "I will kill you. You're an evil . . . soulless . . . dead thing. You can't hurt me anymore. You're worthless." She was crying now, as she hit him. "You don't have a soul! There is nothing good or clean in you. You are dead inside! You can't feel anything real! I could never . . . be your girl. I could never . . ." Buffy stopped, the words dying somewhere in the back of her throat, as realization dawned. 

__

She wanted to tell him that she could never love him. But she couldn't.

Buffy pushed herself off of him, still in shock. She rocked back onto her heels and stared at him, her hand coming up to cover her open mouth. "Oh God," she whispered. "Oh God, no."

"Buffy?" His voice cut through the air, uncertainly. It sounded so familiar, yet somehow foreign. 

She couldn't bring herself to respond. She tore her eyes away from him and stared down at the pavement in horror. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. She didn't love Spike. She couldn't love Spike. She could never . . ."

"Buffy!" 

Buffy opened her eyes to see Dawn standing over her. "Dawn?"

"Yeah. Like you have any other pain-in-the-neck kid sisters?"

Buffy tried to take a steadying breath as she pushed herself up to a sitting position on the couch. "What happened?"

"You fell asleep. Apparently, 'Bram Stoker's Dracula' isn't all that riveting on film if you've actually met the real thing."

Buffy looked around and tried to focus. She was still dazed. Her heart was still racing and she couldn't seem to come back to earth.

"Buffy? Hello? Oh, chosen one?"

"What?" She looked up at Dawn.

"Are you okay?" Dawn sat beside Buffy and gave her a concerned look.

"Me? I'm fine." She started playing with a piece of fuzz on the arm of the sofa. "Just a bad dream, that's all."

"What about?"

"Oh? Nothing. Just beating up a demon that's all. Nothing to worry about." Buffy got up from the couch, desperate for some personal space. She felt trapped. Her limbs were beginning to tremble and she was trying desperately to steady herself. 

This last dream had been the worst of the worst. Not only had she been unable to tell Spike that she couldn't love him, but she had also been forced to face something she had long been in denial about, her own brutality. As much as what she had seen had just been a nightmare, she knew it was more than that. It had been real, a real moment from the past. She had lived it before. She had tried to forget, but now she couldn't. She had beaten Spike brutally and mercilessly that night in the alley behind the police station, taken advantage of his love for her and had blithely beaten him into the ground. What the hell had been wrong with her? Being back from the dead was no excuse. 

An involuntary shudder coursed through Buffy's small frame as she tried to shake the image from mind. She didn't want to deal with it. Didn't want to face that side of herself. It had been so much easier to lay all the blame on Spike. He was the evil, soulless fiend, right? He was the one to blame, wasn't he? 

"So," Dawn interjected, cutting through Buffy's inner ramblings, "nothing for me to worry about? But it's okay for you to worry?"

"No." Buffy turned around to face her. "It's nothing like that. Just having bad dreams, that's all."

"Having? As in, having had them before?"

"A few."

"What do you think it is? Is it the same demon every time?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Buffy nodded and nervously rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. 

"So, you think maybe it's some sort of dream demon? Visits you in your sleep, and kills you before morning?"

"It's not Freddy Krueger."

"Oh, please! He is so not scary."

Buffy rolled her eyes and tried to walk away.

"But your demon is, right? Buffy," there was genuine concern in Dawn's voice, "you don't _get_ scared. What is this thing?"

"Not what you'd think."

"Right. Because I'm a child and I don't understand these things."

"That's not it. Look, Dawn," Buffy sighed and moved to stand closer to her sister, "I just don't want to upset you. That's all."

"And of course, I don't find any of this upsetting, so that's fine."

"That's not it."

"Then what is? Why can't you talk to me? Who else do you have Buffy? Xander? Everyone else is gone. Giles, Willow, . . ." she opened her mouth to say "Spike," but couldn't. They both knew it.

"Spike," Buffy finished for her.

"Yeah, well," Dawn looked down at the floor, "who wants him here anyway? I'm glad he's gone."

"Yeah."

"Aren't you?" Dawn looked up at her sister.

Buffy tried to say yes, but she couldn't. The word wouldn't come. She just stood there staring at Dawn, trying desperately to find her voice.

"Buffy?"

"Yes, yes. I'm glad he's gone," she finally managed. "But, it's not like I haven't seen him."

"What?! You've seen Spike and you didn't tell me? When?"

"Not here. In my dreams. Every night. Every night for the past two weeks. I don't know why, but it keeps happening."

"That was the nightmare I woke you from?"

"Yes." Buffy exhaled a heavy breath and let herself fall into a nearby chair. "He's haunting me. Every night. I see him, and we . . ."

"You what?" Dawn asked, sitting down on the coffee table.

"We fight. That's what. It never stops."

"Does he hurt you?" 

"No." Buffy shook her head and stared down at her hands. "I always seem to hurt him more." And it was true. Even though most of her dreams had ended with Spike sinking his teeth into her neck, it was never painful, never something she didn't want. She was seducing him in her dreams. Begging him to take her. Sometimes coercing him. It was frightening. And sad. She hated herself for it, for wanting Spike after everything that had happened. But want him she did. It was getting more difficult to deny with each passing day.

"Do you still love him, Buffy?"

"What?" Buffy's eyes shot up.

"Do you still love him?"

"I . . ." Buffy was stunned. "I don't love Spike. I've never loved Spike."  


"Right. Okay. Whatever you say." Dawn moved to get up. 

Buffy's hand came out and stopped her. "What do you mean 'whatever I say?' I do not love Spike."

"Okay."

"Dawn!"

"Buffy, it's okay to still have feelings for him. I don't like what he did to you, but it's not like you're ever going to let him back into your life. So, it'll take you some time to get over him. You'll do it. You'll be fine."

"Yeah. Fine. Sure." Buffy fell back in the chair.

Dawn watched her sister suspiciously. "You're not . . . thinking about letting him back in? Are you?" 

"No, no." Buffy couldn't look at her sister.

"Buffy?"

"I don't even know where he is. I'll probably never see him again. So it doesn't really matter."

"Exactly what kind of dreams are you having about Spike?"

"Oh, the violent kind," Buffy reassured her. "Lots of punching and kicking and . . ."

"And . . . making out?"

Buffy didn't say anything.

"Oh my God Buffy! What is wrong with you?"

"Exactly what I've been asking myself."

"You can't want Spike. You do know that right? Evil, sadistic rapist? You can't want him Buffy."

"I know. And I don't. Really." She looked up at Dawn, her eyes pleading for some affirmation. 

"He'll hurt you again."

"I know." Buffy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to quell the tears that were threatening to give way. "Oh God I know."

Dawn knelt down beside her and wrapped her arms around her sister. "It'll be okay, Buff. I promise. Somehow we'll get through this together."


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

__

"Why can't you kill me?"

Spike spun around on his heals, hearing that all too familiar voice. "What?"

"Why can't you kill me?" Buffy got up from the table where she was sitting and moved toward him. 

"What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here." Spike looked around him, slightly panicked. They were in Brazil. He knew that. Him and . . . It wasn't Buffy. He knew it wasn't supposed to be Buffy. Yet there she was.

She stalked up toward him and reached out her hand, turning his face toward her. "Why can't you kill me?" she asked, staring up coldly into his eyes.

"You know why," he nearly sobbed.

"Right. Because you love me." She let him go and moved back a few steps. "You have such a wonderful way of showing it."

"I know." He couldn't look her in the eyes. 

"You know that I don't love you, right? That I could never love you? You're a monster. You're not worth the animal blood it takes to keep you alive."

"Yes."

"What do you want Spike?"

"What?" He looked up at her, surprised.

"I said, what do you want? There is something you want from me. What is it?"

He stared at her for a long, painful moment, searching her eyes for the answer to her question. Finally, he realized what it was. "I want you to kill me."  


She smiled to herself. "There now. That wasn't so hard, was it? That's all you really want." She pulled a stake out of her back pocket and moved closer to him. "It's all you really deserve." She placed the point of the stake over his heart. "Tell me again, Spike."

"I want you to kill me."

"And again."

"Kill me Buffy. Please. I need you to . . . "

She pulled back the stake and drove it into his heart.

Spike awoke, a tortured gasp tearing from his chest. She had killed him. Oh God. He had never had a dream like that before. His dreams always ended with him hurting Buffy. Never with her hurting him. But he had an answer. Once and for all, he had and answer. He knew now exactly what he had to do. He had to go back to Sunnydale. He had to find Buffy. 

He had to let her kill him.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

They were both staring at her. Buffy wanted to scream. "Okay you guys. You can stop staring. Why don't one of you just ask me?"  


Xander and Dawn looked at each other across the table, then both went back to eating their breakfast.

"Okay, fine. Don't ask me. See if I care." Buffy got up from the table and went to the fridge to pour herself some more milk.

"All right, Buff," Xander said, "if you really want us to, I'll bite. How did you sleep last night?"

She turned around, closing the fridge behind her. "Fine. No bad dreams. No evil Spike seduction. Nothing. I am completely cured Buffy."

"Right. Completely." Xander nodded slowly.

"Really. Not one inappropriate Spike dream. No fighting, no punching, no rolling around on the ground--"

"Oh gross," Dawn interjected. "We get the point."

"So why do you think they've stopped?" Xander asked.

"Well, maybe talking about it was enough. You know? No more pent-up frustration. That kind of thing. I have you guys, and you've just been a really big help." Buffy blithely went about buttering an English muffin.

"Either that or you're just in denial," Xander said.

"What? No. No denial. They really did stop. I'm just relieved that's all."

"Until, of course, they start up again," Dawn volunteered.

"I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"No? You think you're totally over Spike? Just like that? Please Buffy, even at fifteen I know better than that."


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Sunnydale was exactly the way he remembered it. The manicured lawns, the tailored shrubbery, the well-kept buildings - and that was just the cemeteries. Spike walked the streets with unease. He didn't want to run into Buffy until he was ready, but there was something he had to do.

He had arrived in Sunnydale the previous night. It had taken him that twenty-four hour period to reorient himself and put himself to rights. The first thing he had done was bleach his hair. Then he had found himself some decent clothing. Living in the untamed wilds of Africa for more than two months had left him looking battered and demoralized. He had needed to change that, and fast. More than anything he needed to look the part of soulless, unrepentant Spike - for Buffy's sake. He didn't want her to know that anything had changed, that anything was wrong. It would just make everything easier if she never found out about the soul 

Spike turned onto Revello drive, his stride somehow determined in spite of the panic rising in his chest. If she saw him, she would kill him. He knew it. He just wasn't ready to die. At least not yet.

He stopped. Right in front of her house. Everything was the same. The same familiar white façade, the same porch steps, the same windows glowing with a beckoning warmth. He wanted to go inside. To walk up those steps, open the door and walk right in, like he had so many times before. But he couldn't. He never would again.

Sensing movement near the window, he ducked behind the tree on the front lawn. His tree. The tree he had spent so many long nights standing under, watching Buffy. Waiting for her. This was the last time he'd ever see any of it. He just wanted one more chance. One last moment to bask in what had become so familiar to him. This was home. He had needed to see it, one last time, before he died.

Spike leaned his head back against the tree, and for the first time since he had gotten his soul back, wished he had a cigarette. He knew he didn't deserve to be here. Knew he didn't deserve even this one piece of bittersweet happiness. But here he was, trying to take it anyway. That's what he always did. He had always taken what he wanted, in spite of the consequences. And soon, it would finally catch up with him.

He heard laughter coming from the house. Xander passed by the window, then Dawn. They didn't notice him. Xander had a bowl in his arms. It was probably movie night for the Scoobies. Spike inhaled deeply and tried to prepare himself for a long night of feeling the outsider.

He remembered the first night he had been free in the world with his chip. How clearly he remembered looking in on the other vampires and wishing he could join them in their sport. His entire existence he had been an outsider looking in, but he had never felt it as acutely as he did tonight. Tonight, it made him want to die.

"So horror or romance?" he heard Dawn ask, as she plopped herself down on the couch, his ultra-sensitive vampire hearing finally proving useful.

"Horror!" two alarmed voices declared in unison. One of those voices was Xander's. The other one belonged to . . .

"Buffy. Please, what's a little romance going to hurt?"

"No." She finally entered his line of vision. 

Spike sucked in a sharp, unneeded breath at the sight of her. God, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her eyes so radiant, her skin glowing softly under the artificial light. Her hair was up in a haphazard knot, and she was dressed in casual, movie night attire. But it didn't matter. She was always beautiful to him. Always gleaming and glistening like the sun. Ready to save him. Ready to burn him.

Spike felt a stab of regret as she ducked down out of sight under the window, apparently joining Dawn on the couch. 

"No, romance Dawn. It's totally off limits. When you stop hanging out with the perpetually brokenhearted, you can watch all the romance you want. But for now," Buffy's voice gained some buoyancy, "it's 'Night of the Living Dead,' or nothing."

The conversation continued, picking up a lighter tone as someone popped a tape in the VCR and the movie started to play. Spike barely heard a word that was spoken. Buffy was broken hearted? The thought swirled through his brain, a smoky haze. 

He knew he had hurt her, but he couldn't imagine her being brokenhearted over him. She hated him. He knew that. She had to. 

So, it must have been someone else. Someone else had broken Buffy's heart. But who?

Spike closed his eyes and tried to quell the guilt and anger that were threatening to overpower him. He had hurt Buffy unspeakably. Obviously, in her pain, she had turned to someone else. Someone else who had hurt her. Someone he had led her to. Would it ever stop? Would he ever stop hurting her, ruining her life? 

Spike took one final look at the Summers house. He knew he would never see it again. A piece of his heart broke as he turned away and walked back out into the street. He would find her again. Just not here. Not now. He'd wait for her. Find the perfect moment to reveal himself, and offer his life as a willing sacrifice to Buffy's happiness.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

"Ow! No fair. You can't try and bite me anyplace but my neck. Haven't you read the vampire manual?" Buffy pushed the wiry vamp away from her, as his fangs grazed the tender flesh of her arm. 

He hit a nearby tombstone, but quickly recovered.

"Really, you need to learn a thing or two. Ever thought about taking some night classes? Get it, night classes?"

The vamp just stared at her blankly.

"You are a vampire, right? Jeez, don't you guys come with a sense of humor anymore?"

The vamp ignored her comments, and just growled, springing for Buffy in one, fluid move. He knocked her to the ground and went for her neck. Buffy pushed her hands against his face, trying to hold him back. "See, that's what I was talking about," she said, her attempts at talking becoming labored by the pressure of trying to hold him off. "It's always the neck."

Buffy gave a hard push, a push that should have dislodged him, but it didn't. The vamp held her tight, breaking out of her grasp and lowering his head to her neck. A flash of panic shot through Buffy's eyes as she tried to summon the strength to free herself, before it was too late. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and . . . started choking.

"Oh, sorry pet. Didn't realize he was gonna . . ."

Buffy opened her eyes and looked up at the man standing in front of her. For a second she couldn't believe it. Spike was looking down at her, offering his hand in assistance. She just stared at his hand, unable to move.

"Right. Sorry, I forgot." He pulled his hand away and nervously ran it through his hair. 

Buffy looked up at him again. He was staring at her, but he wouldn't look her in the eye. 

Wiping the vamp dust from her clothes, Buffy got up from the ground and stood in front of him. Was this another dream? She didn't know. She felt like crying. 

"What are you doing here?" It was all she could think to say.

"Uh . . . I came . . . I came to . . ." He seemed at a loss. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stared at the ground.

"Spike!" 

He looked up at her, briefly meeting her gaze, then looking away again. "I . . . I came . . . for you."

"For me?! In what universe do you have any right to do anything for me? You sick, evil, miserable vampire." There was venom in her words. It felt good. Buffy wanted to tear into him, to let him know how angry she was, how much she hated him. Hate was good. Hate would get her past the fear.

"You're right."

"I know I'm right. So again, Spike, what the hell are you doing here?"

He swallowed hard and she could sense that something was terribly wrong. This wasn't her Spike. He was missing that self-assured cockiness that defined him. He couldn't feel guilt. You needed a soul for that. So what was wrong with him?

"What happened to you?"

He laughed to himself. "What happened to me?" He threw his arms open in a questioning gesture and began pacing nervously over a couple of nearby graves. "What didn't happen to me? Demons, shamans, bleedin' caves, unspeakable nightmares--"

"Nightmares?" That got Buffy's attention.

"Yes, nightmares luv." He finally stopped to look at her. "What? You think vampire's can't dream?"

Buffy was confused. She looked away from him trying to sort through the uncertainty. "But you . . . you're not . . . you're a vampire! How can you have nightmares? You are one!"

She saw him visibly flinch at that. Finally he spoke. "Yeah, well, even demons have demons luv. Nothin' new about that."

"Don't call me that."

"What?" He looked up at her, surprised. "Oh right, right. Sorry."

"You should be." 

For a long time they just stood there, the air around them thick with a heavy silence. Buffy didn't know what to say, what to do. She had imagined this moment so many times. Imagined exactly what she would say to him. How she would yell and scream, and tell him how much he had hurt her. She'd beat him to the ground. He'd fight back. They'd spar. And finally - _finally_ - he would say something cruel and hurtful and she'd just stake him, justified in her attack. 

But they weren't fighting. They were just standing there, not even speaking. What was she going to do?

"You shouldn't have left," she said, her voice somehow calm. "That was the coward's way out."

"It was the only way out. For me, at least."

She looked up at him. "Why? If you were going to leave, why come back here? What do you want?"

"I told you. I came back for you."

A strangled sob tore at her throat. "You can't expect to come back here and . . . be with me."

"I don't."

"Then what do you want?"

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the stake he had used to kill the other vamp. He took a tentative step toward her, holding the stake out to her, the pointy end facing him. "This."

"What?" She was confused. "You came back for a stake?"

"No." He seemed frustrated. "I came back for you . . . to do this." Again he offered her the stake.

"Do what?" Then it dawned on her. "Oh." 

"So?" He looked at her earnestly, clearly wishing she would take it.

"So . . . " Buffy just stared at the stake in his hands. What was she supposed to do? Take it and give him what he wanted? Kill him? "You want me to kill you?"

"It's about time."

Buffy looked up at him. 

Again he averted her gaze. "Will you just take it, please?"

"No," she said it without even thinking. "No, I won't."

"Why?" He looked back at her, forgetting himself in his surprise. 

"Because, . . . I can't." She took a step away from him, walking past him, giving him her back. "You want to die? You'll have to do it yourself." She moved away, intent on leaving the cemetery. "I can't kill you Spike. It wouldn't be right."

"Buffy," he called after her. 

She didn't respond.

"Wait." He ran after her, falling into step a few paces behind her. "Why?"

"Because it isn't right. Maybe you do deserve to die. But I can't be the one to do it. Just go Spike. Find your solace elsewhere. It's not here. You'll never find it here."

"I'm not asking for your forgiveness."

She turned around, Spike nearly colliding with her when she stopped. "Don't you think I know that? Look, I don't know what you want from me. I don't even know what's wrong with you. But I can't help you. Whatever you're looking for, you won't find it here. I can't help you!" She turned and started to walk again.

"And that's your right."

"Oh, damn it Spike!" She stopped again. "That's my right? Like I wouldn't kill you if I could? Like I'm holding back? As much as you love the whole sadomasochistic torture routine, I'm not like that. I'm not trying to punish you. To withhold what I think you need. I simply can't do it. Now leave me alone!" She stalked off again.

He followed. "Why?"

"None of your damn business why."

"Buffy."

"Don't." She put up her hand to silence him. "Just don't."

Buffy continued to walk, trying her best to ignore him. Spike followed her, all the way home.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. "Leave me alone Spike!"

"Buffy. . ."

"I mean it! Leave Sunnydale. Stay in Sunnydale. I don't care. I just want you out of my way. That's all. And if you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from the Scoobies too. I think Dawn seriously _wants_ to kill you."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because, I'm the one who has a right to do you in. Not Dawn. Not Xander. Me. Buffy. And I don't want to see it happen. Not yet, anyway. Not like this." They came around to the back of the house. The kitchen door was clearly in view. "I want you gone Spike. Now! Leave me alone. You're not welcome here."

Buffy bounded up the porch steps and into the house. He didn't follow. Good. She didn't want him around anyway. If Dawn even laid eyes on him, he'd be a big pile of dust in less than a second. No, it was better this way. Spike could walk away, and Buffy could say she had done the right thing. But why was it the right thing? Why hadn't she taken the chance when she had it?

Buffy snuck upstairs, trying not to wake Dawn. Soundlessly, she entered her bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned back against the wall and tried to calm the turmoil in her head. Spike was back. It was no dream this time. He was real. She hadn't touched him, and yet she knew. Her dreams had been so vivid, but they were nothing compared to reality. 

The sight of him standing over her when he killed that vamp, had taken her breath away. She had wanted to scream, to rant and rave. But she couldn't. She could only stare up at him, taking in every last inch of him, convincing herself that he was real.

What was wrong with her? Tonight should have been the night, the night she made Spike pay for what he had done to her. And yet, she couldn't. When it came down to it, she couldn't. How many times in the last five years had they fought? How many times had she beaten him senseless, intent on doing him real harm? And tonight, when she had more reason than ever before, she couldn't even touch him. Couldn't even stake him with a moldy piece of wood. Why was she doing this to herself? What did she hope to gain by sparing Spike? 

Buffy wrapped her arms around herself. Her body beginning to tremble, her knees weak, she sunk to the floor. She'd kill him if she had to. She would. It was her duty, her job as the Slayer. She would kill Spike. It was what she was meant to do.


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

The next morning Buffy came down the stairs and found Dawn curled up on the couch with a bag of Cheetos. Buffy couldn't help but be horrified. "Cheetos for breakfast?"

"What?" Dawn looked up at her, her eyes finally leaving the TV. "It's nutritious. It's got cheese, and fiber. I'm sure it has fiber." She turned the bag around to look at the nutrition content. "It's just like having a bowl of Raisin Bran, just without the bland, horrible taste."

"Yeah, whatever you say. Just promise me you'll eat something later that doesn't have the shelf life of a Twinkie. Okay?"

"Sure. Whatever." Dawn looked back up at her sister. "Uh, Buffy? Are you okay?"

"What? Me? Yeah sure, I'm fine. Why?" Buffy sat down on the coffee table in front of Dawn.

"Because you look like you've been hit by a truck. What's wrong? Bad patrol last night?"

Buffy sighed. "Yeah, really bad patrol."

"What happened?" Dawn pulled her feet over the side of the couch and sat up, turning toward Buffy.

"I don't know quite how to say it."

"It's okay Buffy. What? Was it some extra bad demon? A new Big Bad in Sunnydale?"

"More like an old Big Bad. Try a hundred-and-twenty-two years old."

"Spike?" 

Buffy stared up at her sister, surprised that she had gotten it that quickly. "Yeah."

"Spike's back in town? Where is he?"

"I don't know. I saw him last night when I was on patrol. He followed me home and . . ."

"He followed you home?"

"Yeah, but not in a stalker-like way." Buffy couldn't believe she was defending him, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. 

"So, what? He followed you home and . . .?"

"And nothing. I told him to leave, and apparently he did."

"Did you check for cigarette butts outside?" Dawn asked.

"Please, Dawn." Buffy rolled her eyes at the absurdity.

"I mean it Buffy. What if he was here all night? What if he's stalking you again?"

"He's not."

"How do you know?"

"I just know, okay?" Buffy got up and walked toward the kitchen. She couldn't take Dawn's questioning anymore. She just knew that Spike had left. She didn't know how she knew, but she knew.

"Buffy?"

Dawn's voice stopped her.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah Dawn. I'm fine. I'll be careful. I promise. After all, if he does go all stalker-serial killer again, I can always stake him," she offered lamely.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't. She shook her head, and turned to walk away. Over her shoulder she said, "I'll kill him if I have to."


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Another night out patrolling. Buffy held the stake firmly in her right hand, waiting for something, anything, to pounce. Nothing did. It was a quiet night for slaying. She had only killed one vamp, and that had been a fledgling, just crawling out of its grave. Not really a challenge, but apparently all the fulfillment she would get tonight.

She walked through the cemetery, trying desperately to stay focused. But all she could think about was Spike. Something was wrong with him. She couldn't figure out what it was, but there was something different about him. Something had changed. Something important, integral to his character. Buffy started to wonder if that was what her dreams had been about. Whatever had happened to Spike, perhaps it was affecting her too. Maybe, on a psychic level, she had felt the change. Whatever it was, she was sure it wasn't good.

Somehow Buffy found herself at Spike's old crypt. It hadn't been her intention to visit, but there she was. She had no way of knowing if he was inside. When Spike had disappeared months earlier, he had left Clem in charge of the place. But Clem had long since abandoned the vampire nest - apparently feeling, after what Riley had done to it, that it was no longer up to even the most basic standards of demon habitation. Buffy didn't know if Spike would return to the old haunt, but she was still drawn to it. 

Cautiously, Buffy approached the door, her heart starting to beat faster. She knew there was only a small chance that Spike would be inside, but still her pulse raced. She pushed open the door and stepped into the crypt. Buffy looked around. The faint glow of moonlight filtered in through the one large window, providing just enough light for her to make out her surroundings. Not much had changed since the last time she had been there. The place was a mess, but the walls were still standing. She walked around the room, looking for any sign of life, but there was none. She turned to leave.

And then, she felt something. A presence. Behind her. She swung around on her heels to see Spike standing just inches away. 

"Somethin' I can help you with?"

"What?" Buffy was caught off-guard. "No. I was just patrolling. I heard a noise in here and I thought I'd check it out."

"A noise?" He cocked a mocking eyebrow.

"Yes. A noise. You know, like vampires make? I was just doing my job. That's all!" she said emphatically. 

"Right, of course." He took a step away from her. "So, find any monsters lurking about?"

"Just one."

He laughed to himself. "Yeah, well, shoulda known."

She watched him curiously for a moment. His head was down and he seemed to be someplace else. Finally, she realized, she had to ask him. "So, are you going to tell me what happened? Or do I just turn around and leave right now?"

"What?" He came back to reality. 

"What happened to you? Something's different. What is it?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he croaked, his voice raspy with emotion.

"Try me."

"No. Can't do that pet. There's no way for me to tell you. I think you'd better just leave."

Buffy approached him, determination in her stride. She stopped a hairsbreadth away from him, and raised her hand to his chin, pulling his face toward her. He flinched at her touch, but Buffy didn't care. She needed to know what he was hiding.

He closed his eyes, refusing to meet her gaze. 

"Open your eyes Spike."

"Buffy . . ."

"Now!"

He did as she commanded. 

Buffy stared back at him. She searched his eyes looking for what, she didn't know. He was having difficulty facing her. Tears brimmed behind his eyes, and she could tell he was on the brink of losing it. Buffy narrowed her gaze, and searched his more closely. And that's when she saw it.

Buffy dropped her hand, as if she had just been burned. Spike lowered his eyes again, and she stared at him for a long, hard moment. She couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to give voice to her confusion. There was something new in his eyes, something deep that she knew she had never seen before - at least, not in real life. Something that was intimately familiar. She had seen it once before, in a dream. Her dream about William.

Spike moved away from her, crossing to the door and opening it for her. "I really think you should go."

"No," Buffy said, still dazed. "We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"_Nothing _to talk about? So, you don't want to tell me why . . . oh God, I can't even say it. Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"You. I saw you. Well, not you . . . William."

Spike slammed the door shut and took a step toward her. "You don't know what you saw."

"Oh really? 'Cause, you know Spike, I don't remember you ever having a soul before. I mean, yeah, there was that one dream I had, but . . ."

"You had a dream about me?" He seemed genuinely surprised.

"No, I just like thinking about you even when I'm asleep. Yes, I have had dreams about you. They plague me like nightmares." Buffy wrapped her arms across her chest in an unconsciously protective gesture.

Spike seemed stunned. "Did I hurt you?"

"What?"

"In these dreams, did I hurt you?"

Buffy thought for a moment. "No, not really. Not anymore than usual."

"Oh, and that's saying something."

"They're just dreams. They don't mean anything." She took a step toward him and tried to look up into his eyes. "Tell me what's going on. Is it true, or am I just seeing something that isn't there?"

Spike sighed heavily and turned away. "You know it isn't that easy to get your soul back. I haven't crossed any Romanian gypsies lately, and I certainly don't have any magically inclined friends to do my bidding."

"But there are other ways?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, I suppose there are. But if you think," he looked up at her, "that I used any of them, you are crazy. Even I wouldn't be damn fool enough to ask for my soul back."

Spike couldn't tell her the truth. If she knew he had gotten his soul back, there was no way she would ever kill him. She'd let him wallow in his own guilt and misery for the rest of eternity. He knew he deserved it. But Buffy didn't. Buffy needed to kill him - to punish him, to take her revenge - so that she might, someday, find peace. 

"So, what? William's just coexisting in your body of his own accord?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." He turned his back on her and crossed the floor, trying to escape her incessant gaze.

"I know what I saw," she said emphatically.

"You don't know anything. You're not a demon, luv. You can't sense things like that. You're just the Slayer. The only superpower you have is your strength."

"I don't need to be a demon to sense that there's something different about you." She came up to stand behind him. "You've changed."

"Oh," he laughed bitterly, "wouldn't you just love that? Big, bad Spike got his soul back, just for Buffy, and now she's free to forgive him and love him, and everything's all hearts and flowers and happy endings," he mocked.

"That's not what I meant," she said, her voice painfully hard. "Something has changed, and I want to know what it is."

"You want to know what's changed?" He turned on her. "This." He vamped out and grabbed for Buffy.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Just what comes natural baby." He bared his fangs and lowered his head to her neck. 

Instinctively, Buffy reacted, raising her foot to his abdomen and pushing him away. He crashed into the wall behind him, falling to the floor.

"So? Surprised, are we?" he asked, as he stood and took a series of slow, purposeful steps toward her.

"What is wrong with you?" 

"Nothin', luv." He laughed. "At least, not anymore. Tell me Buffy, do you think you can hold me off this time? I've been practicing. Maybe you won't be so lucky this time around." 

He reached for her in one quick movement, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to him. Buffy pulled back her free arm and slugged him in the face. Still, he didn't let her go. 

"That's right pet. Let it all out. Show me what you've got. You know I like it rough."

Buffy punched him again, and kicked him in the stomach, dislodging his hold on her in the process. He stumbled backward a few steps, but quickly regained his balance. 

He laughed again. "Good. High marks for effort. But really Buffy, once I get you on the ground, how are you ever going to get away?"

Spike could hear her heart begin to race, her breath coming in short, agitated bursts. He was getting to her. Good. Maybe if he pushed her far enough, she'd overcome her aversion to using that stake of hers and kill him.

Buffy lunged at Spike, slamming him up against the wall, holding him there by his shoulders. "What is wrong with you? Why are you doing this?"

"Because it's what I am!" He brought his hands up between them and knocked both her arms away in one move, freeing himself from her grasp. Then, before she could react, he grabbed her by the arms, and pulled her to him. He searched her eyes. She made no move to defy him. She still seemed unconvinced by his attempt to hurt her. What the hell was is going to take?

Breathing heavy - in spite of his lack of a need for oxygen - his mind tortured and desperate, he pulled her closer and kissed her violently.

Immediately, Buffy began to struggle, tearing herself from his grasp and slapping him solidly across the face. "You son-of-a-bitch! How dare you! How dare you lay your hands on me!" Buffy reached into her coat and pulled out her stake. "I swear it Spike. If you ever come near me again, I will kill you. End you're meaningless, miserable life."

"I don't think you've got the guts," he prodded.

"Oh don't I?" Buffy brought the stake to his chest and looked up into his eyes defiantly. "I'll show you guts." She pulled the stake back over her shoulder and got ready to strike.

Spike closed his eyes and waited for it. Waited for the sweet release he had wanted for so long. It was just like in his dream. She would kill him. Stake in hand, Buffy would raise it to his chest and pierce his heart, in one profound, definitive move. 

Spike waited. And waited. Finally, he felt Buffy moving away from him. His game face melted away and he opened his eyes. "I thought you were going to do it Slayer," he said, trying to taunt her, but afraid his voice was trembling too much from the shock.

"I told you last night I couldn't do it. And I meant it. Just how stupid do you think I am?" She turned to look at him.

"I don't think you're stupid at all."

"Right. And that's why you provoked me just now? You want me to kill you Spike?" She came up to him, placing the point of her stake against his chest. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that." She let go of the stake and it fell to the floor with a decisive "clank." "You know, for a vampire, you really suck," she said, backing away. "And not in the good way either. Well, a good way for vampires," she corrected. "You are not going to coerce me into killing you. So, you can just forget it. You want to die? Go bask in the blazing sun. You won't get any help from me."

She turned and walked toward the door. "And if you think you've sold me on the whole non-soul-having issue, you're wrong," she said over her shoulder. As she opened the door to leave, she turned back to look at him again. "I'll find out the truth. Whether you like it or not."


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

"Find anything?" Buffy asked, a sigh of frustration escaping her lips as she closed another huge volume of text.

"No, not really. Unless, of course, you're looking for a spell that removes all your hair and re-grows it on the inside of you body," Dawn said, as she absently flipped another page.

Buffy folded her arms on the table and leaned forward, perusing the titles of the books spread out before her. She was determined to find some information that might help her figure out what was going on with Spike. She knew the idea of him having a soul was ridiculous - positively obscene in it's absurdity - but she couldn't seem to shake the thought.

She had spent the previous night, lying awake, trying to find some reason or explanation for what she had seen. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face, staring down at her, his eyes deep with pain, and torment, and sincerity. She knew she shouldn't be able to detect a soul in anyone. The first time she had seen Angel after he had lost his soul, she hadn't realized that it was gone. So how was it, now, she could recognize that Spike's had returned? She knew she shouldn't be able to. Knew it was impossible. And yet, she was so sure, she would have bet her life on it.

"What exactly is it we're looking for again?" Xander asked.

"I don't know. Anything about soul regeneration, or transference, or whatever."

"And why?"

"It's not really important."

"Okay, so we've spent the past three hours looking through moldy old books for the 411 on soul transference and yet the reason's not really important enough for you to tell us?" Xander put down his book and gave Buffy a reproachful look. "I thought you were supposed to be getting past that whole keeping-secrets-from-my-friends phase."

"And I am. I just . . . I'm not exactly sure what's going on, and I'm really worried about how you'll react. Both of you."

"Try us Buffy," Dawn interjected. "What's the worst that can happen? It's not like we could never talk to you again, even if we wanted to. Who do we have left?"

"Thanks for the warm and fuzzy Dawn."

"You know what I mean. We'll still love you, just give us a try."

Buffy looked from Xander to Dawn, and then back again. "All right, but Xander, there's something you need to know first."

"I'm all ears Buffy. Well, not literally of course, but the ear parts of me," he flicked his lobes with his fingers, "they're all ears."

"Spike's back."

"What? I didn't hear you." He put a finger in one ear and rubbed it around, as if trying to clear it out. "What was that again?"

"I said Spike's back."

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said. How long has he been back?"

"I don't know really. A few days, a few weeks. I saw him for the first time two nights ago, when I was out on patrol."

"The first time?" Dawn asked, her voice hard and clearly accusing. "You mean you saw him again?"

"You knew about this?" Xander turned on Dawn.

"Well, just the first night. Buffy didn't tell me she'd seen him a second time. It's not my fault."

"Are you two finished?" Buffy cut in.

Xander and Dawn looked at each other. "Yeah, I think so," Xander said.

"Good, because I haven't exactly gotten to the difficult part yet."

"And that would be . . .?" Xander raised an eyebrow at her.

Buffy had thought long and hard about sharing her suspicions with what was left of the Scooby gang. She had wanted to wait until she was sure of exactly what was going on. Neither Dawn nor Xander were all that fond of Spike - okay, they both sort of hated him - but Buffy knew she had no choice but to tell them. It was only fair. "Spike, may . . . have his soul back."

"What?!" both Dawn and Xander exclaimed at once.

"See, I knew I shouldn't have told you." Buffy shook her head and started shuffling papers around on the dinning room table.

Dawn was the first to recover. "What makes you think he got his soul back?"

"It's hard to explain."

"Well try." Her little sister's voice was hard.

"Let's see. You know those dreams I've been having?"

"Those wanton, torrid, sex dreams?" Dawn asked.

Buffy ignored her. "Well, in one of them, I saw William, and he was different. Whatever was happening, it felt like I was actually there. I saw him, saw the man that Spike used to be. Saw his soul."

"And now you're seeing it everywhere?" Xander finally joined the conversation.

"No, not everywhere. Just in Spike. I looked into his eyes and there's something different about him. I can't explain it. He came to town and asked me to kill him. How else would you explain it?"

"Well, Spike was always sort of into the kinky. I remember this one time I walked in on him doing naked pushups in bed. It was around the time the nerds turned you invisible and . . ." Xander stopped in mid-sentence. 

"Ewww gross," Dawn cried. "Can we never speak of this again?"

"Already there."

"Look, you guys, this has nothing to do with Spike and the kinkiness - although, you're totally right about that. This is something else. He's acting very strangely, and I want to find out why."

"And what do you expect to find in these books, oh fearless leader?"

"I don't know." Buffy leaned back in her chair, slightly deflated. "An answer? A possibility? Something."

"Did you ask Spike about it?"

"Yes. But he denied it. Denied that anything was wrong."

"Then maybe it isn't." Xander leaned closer and covered Buffy's hand with his own. "Don't you think that if he had somehow gotten his soul back, he would have fessed up, used it to get back into your good graces? Spike's always been out for himself. Even when he was helping you. You don't need him Buffy. Face it, you're grasping at straws because you want to forgive him, because you've gotten used to the abuse. It's time you let go."

"You're wrong."

"No he's not," said Dawn. "Buffy, you can't make up excuses to forgive Spike. It isn't right. He tried to rape you. You can't just forget it ever happened."

"And I don't plan to. But I think I'm right here. I know what I saw. I don't know why I saw it, but it's there. And I need you to help me find out why. Will you help me?" She raised earnest eyes to both of them.

"Sure Buff," Xander said. "Whatever you need. But what if we don't find anything?"

"Then I'll have to find another way."

"Buffy?" Xander looked concerned.

"We'll find something. I know we will." She opened up another book and started flipping through the index. 

"All right," he said. "But if it turns out that Spike doesn't have a soul, can I be the one to stake him?"

"Sure. But books first, staking later."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Giles placed the picture of Buffy on the floor and took a step back. 

"Giles, are you sure about this?" Willow asked from her seat on the floor. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of a circle they had drawn with sand on the floorboards of Giles' study.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. The coven wants you focusing your powers on positive energy. They want you to try this on your own, so that they can get a sense of how far you've come. They're monitoring you. They'll be able to feel you, so if you do get into any trouble, they will be able to pull you out. No worries." Giles cleaned his glasses nervously with his handkerchief and tried to nod at Willow reassuringly.

"No worries, huh? Could I possibly get something in writing?" she asked, hopefully.

"You'll be fine." He rested his glasses back on his nose. "This is just a simple protection spell. It's just positive energy. There shouldn't be any interference and nothing should go wrong."

"Famous last words," the redheaded witch mumbled under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Willow looked up and smiled at him. "I just think this is a peachy keen idea and I am so glad you thought of it."

"Well, there's no need to be sarcastic. Now, the spell?"

"Okay, okay." Willow exhaled a deep cleansing breath. She picked up the picture of Buffy and moved it closer so that she could rest both her hands on it. Then, she closed her eyes and began to concentrate.

The last couple of months had been the worst of Willow's life. She was trying so desperately hard to make things right, but it was difficult. There was a part of her that feared she would never be able to atone for the wrongs she had done. But she had to try. Even if she would never be worthy of anyone's forgiveness.

Helping Buffy was a start. Even if Buffy didn't know about it. Giles thought a protection spell might be a harmless way of concentrating some of her power in a positive way. It was summer, after all. The Hellmouth was never all that frisky between May and September, so it seemed like a perfect time to experiment just a little. Of course, experimenting never ended well in Sunnydale, but Bath was nearly half a world away - at least, it felt that way sometimes. Hopefully, guided by the coven, the results would be much better here.

Slowly, the words began to pour from her mouth. Willow hadn't done any research for this spell, hadn't looked in any books. She didn't have to. She was driven by instinct and the energy of her sister witches. She was connected, to them and to the earth, and to great power in a way that was almost beyond even her understanding. She could feel so much, when she tried. Sometimes it was overwhelming - she was trying hard to control that part - but it was also empowering. 

The energy flowed from her body with ease, gracefully wrapping itself around the figure pressed under her fingers. Something was happening. She could feel it. The picture started to levitate, and Willow guided it into the air with her hands. A beautiful, golden light swirled behind her eyes, as she continued to chant, her thoughts caught up in a mindless rapture.

She was making a connection. She could feel power. Pure, concentrated power, radiating from the photo, colliding with the ribbon of light she was sending its way. She thought, at first, that it was Buffy's power - her Slayer strength, the mystical energy that had called her to be the chosen one. But it wasn't. It was something dark. 

Willow forced her eyes open and stared at the picture floating before her. There was an ominous black cloud hovering around Buffy. It was overshadowing her, overpowering her. A shot of pure fear coursed through Willow's veins as she stared at the previously unmarred photo. That moment of weakness was all it took.

The cloud grew more dense and in a great whoosh of energy, repelled the beautiful, golden trail that Willow had been trying to send. The beam of light sped across the room and dissipated in a momentary flash as it hit the wall behind her. 

Before she could even react, the photo plummeted to the floor, taking Willow's hands with it. She couldn't release her hands, it was as if someone were there, holding her to the ground. Suddenly, the picture turned completely black and a dark bolt of energy shot up both her arms and under her skin. The second before her eyes turned black she screamed, "Giles!"

Giles ran toward Willow and threw himself on the ground in front of her. In one swift move, he tore the photograph from under her hands and fell back on his heels. 

Willow hit the floor behind her.

"Oh my God, Willow!" Giles scrambled closer to her and put his hands on both sides of her head, trying to see if she was conscious.

"Giles?" she asked, tentatively. She opened her eyes, their color having returned to normal.

"Yes Willow, I'm here."

"What happened?" She tried to sit up, but Giles protested.

"Lie down. Let me get you something for your head."

"No Giles, I'm fine. Really," she said, pushing herself up to a sitting position and rubbing the sore spot on her head. "Remind me, next time we do that, to get some pillows. Lots and lots of pillows."  


"What happened? What did you see?" Giles asked, a troubled urgency to his voice.

"See? I . . . I don't know. It was all so strange. Giles, I don't think the spell worked."

"Of course it didn't work," he snapped.

Willow gave him a hurt look.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound cross. But that was damned dangerous. It wasn't supposed to be dangerous."

"And I don't think it would have been," she said moving a few inches toward the couch and pulling herself up to sit, "if there hadn't already been a spell on Buffy."

"What? What are you talking about?" Giles rose and sat beside her.

"There's already a spell on Buffy. Sort of a black cloud floating around her. It's connected to some big power. Something I'm not sure I can explain."

"Well try."

Willow clasped her hands between her knees and took a much-needed breath. "Well, there's an imbalance somewhere. Something in the demon world is terribly out of whack. There's been a transfer of energy, or something. Something big. Something that takes a lot of magic. And I can't really tell if it's good or if it's bad, but the demon attached to it, isn't really the kind of guy you'd like to have over for tea and crumpets, if you know what I mean."

"You saw this demon?" Giles asked.

Willow nodded. "Yes, I think so. There wasn't much to see. Just this huge black face with these green, glowing eyes. Whatever it is Giles, it's big, and it's powerful, and it's done something to Buffy."

"Oh good Lord." Giles got up from the couch, and started to pace nervously. "We must contact Buffy. She needs to know about this. If it isn't too late already. Willow," he stopped to look at her, "is there anything else you can tell me about this demon? Anything at all?"

"It . . . lives in a cave?" she provided, uncertainly.

"In a cave? You're sure?"

"Well, as sure as I am of anything. Yeah, it was a cave. Kind of cold and dark and scary. Yeah, that was it."

"Right. I'll call Buffy." He moved to pick up the phone, then stopped, his hand still resting on the receiver. "Are you sure you're all right? 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing more than a slight concussion."

"Maybe we should get you to hospital."

"No! Giles. Really, I'm fine." She stood and walked toward the door. "I'm going to the library. See if I can find anything on this glowy, green-eyed demon. Hey," she turned back, "do you think, maybe it's a jealousy monster? You know, green-eyed demon?"

"Why don't you look into that," Giles said, picking up the phone and pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "Green-eyed demon, indeed," he mumbled to himself.

"As if you have any better ideas," Willow grumbled as she finally left the room.

Giles dialed Buffy's number. He just prayed that they weren't too late. Whatever was hanging over Buffy could have been haunting her for God only knew how long. On the fourth ring, someone picked up.

"Hello. Buffy's House of Vampire Slayage. You make 'em, we stake 'em," Xander said on the other end.

"Oh, yes, very funny. And also very childish and very dangerous. You had no idea who was on the other end of this phone, how could you . . .?"

"Buffy, it's for you," Xander called, his voice becoming distant.

"Who is it?" Giles could hear Buffy's voice in the background.

"I don't know. Some stuffy English guy. I think he wants to know if we've got Prince Albert in the can, or something."

Buffy took the phone. "Hey Giles."

"Oh Buffy, thank God. Will you please do me a favor and give Xander a right good scolding later on. I'd do it myself, but I doubt he'd listen."

"Lighten up, Giles. Xander's just having a little fun."

"Buffy, anyone could have been on this line, you should all know better than to say things like that to just anyone."

"Sorry. Once I'm off the phone, I will give him a good and proper scolding. I promise."

"Good."

"It's just that, it's been kind of slow around here, lately. We kind of have to make our own fun these days."

"What do you mean by 'it's been slow?'" he asked.

"Well, other than Spike coming back to town, there hasn't been much news in Sunnydale all summer."

"Spike's back?" Giles spluttered into the phone.

"Yeah. I don't know exactly how long he's been back. At least a few days I guess."

"And I take it you've seen him?" Giles' alarm was returning.

"Twice now." Buffy was finally sobering up. "Once in the cemetery - he saved me from a vamp - and once at his crypt."

"And what, exactly, were you doing at his crypt?"

"Patrolling!" she said defensively. "Why does everyone think I had ulterior motives for going there? I didn't know he was going to be there."

Giles sighed in frustration. "Buffy, tell me, has anything unusual happened lately? Anything at all, other than Spike resurfacing?"

"No. Same old, same old on the Hellmouth."

"And Spike? Is he different in any way?" Giles asked, exploring a suspicion.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Buffy said, "I think . . . he may have his soul."

"What?" Giles nearly screamed into the phone. "Buffy, what on earth would make you think . . .?"

"I saw it. At least, I think I saw it. Giles, there's something different about him. He's changed. He's not the man he was."

"Buffy, he is not a man."

"You know what I mean."

"Buffy--" he began.

"Look, Spike came back. He isn't stalking me, he isn't trying to be my friend. He came back and asked me to kill him."

Giles took a breath and tried to speak, but she cut him off.

"He meant it Giles. He wants to die. I'm not entirely sure why, but I have a fairly good idea. If my suspicions are right, it all makes sense."

"Buffy, this could all be a ploy."

"It's not. Look, Giles . . . it's . . . complicated."

"Complicated? Is that what you're calling it? Buffy, I called you today for a reason. There's something terribly wrong here. Someone has cast a spell on you. There's a black cloud hanging over your head. Something is clouding your mind and clouding your judgement, and you have to be extremely careful."

"I am," she said in a small voice.

"No, you're not. You are being reckless, and selfish, and foolish. If Spike does have a soul, it is the work of dark magic, nothing to rejoice in. Buffy, don't you see? He may have cast a spell on you. You have to be careful. Avoid Spike at all costs."

"Okay, I will."

"Buffy," he warned sternly.

"Giles, it's not like I'm going out looking for him. I haven't seen him in days. I've been staying home, doing research, that's all."

"Still, I want you to promise me that you won't see him. Getting you to kill him may be part of fulfilling the spell."

"Oh please, getting dusted is the pinnacle of his evil plan?" she mocked.

"Promise me Buffy."

"Giles, I can't."

"Buffy."

"Look, it's not that easy. I know you're only concerned for my welfare, but Giles, it's more complicated than that. You see, I've been having dreams about him."

"Dreams? What kind of dreams? Slayer dreams?"

"No," he heard her sigh heavily, "not Slayer dreams. There's no little bald man offering me cheese. No these are different. They take place in real events, in real circumstances from the past. In my first dream I saw William. Not Spike, but William. It was him. It was the strangest thing. It was like I was really there. I knew it was impossible, but Giles, it felt so real."

"What other dreams have you had?" Giles sat down on the edge of his desk and prepared for the worst.

"I saw him in China when he killed his fist Slayer. Then in New York. There were other times, in between. And times, much closer to the present. I've relived moments from my past with him. I don't know why it happened. All I know is, it started about four weeks ago, tortured me for a good two weeks, and then stopped. That's all I know."

"Buffy, did anything significant happen in these dreams? I need you to tell me. It may be important."

"I seduced Spike," she said flatly. "In every single one of them, except for the last."

"And in the last dream?"

She seemed to hesitate. "I beat him to a bloody pulp and tried to tell him that I could never love him. But I couldn't. I couldn't say it. That was the most terrifying dream of all. Giles," there was a sob in her voice, "why is this happening to me? I know it's wrong. Why can't I get over him?"

"Buffy, it's all right," he tried to comfort her. "It's some sort of spell. There's a demon involved. A green-eyed cave demon of some sort. Willow is doing research as we speak. We're going to find out what it is, and do whatever it is we need to do to remove it. Do you understand?"

"What if it isn't the spell?"

Giles tightened his grip on the phone in his hand. "It's the spell Buffy. Trust me. It'll all be over soon."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

"You put a spell on me?" Buffy burst into Spike's crypt to find him standing in front of the TV fiddling with the dial.

He instantly looked up at her. "What?"

"You put a spell on me." She moved up closer to him, stopping just inches from his body, her stance angry and defiant.

"I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about. I didn't put a spell on you." He stared at her quizzically, searchingly.

"Giles said you did. Said something about a cave demon, or something."

Spike took a step back. He seemed visibly shaken. "Right," he mumbled to himself. "Look, luv," he looked up at her, "there was no spell. There _is_ no spell. What happened with that demon had nothing to do with you."

"Giles says it does. Giles says there's a black cloud hanging over my head and someone's put a curse on me."

"Oh god no!" He seemed confused, at a loss, more uncertain of what was going on than she was. "No. That's not what I went there for."

"Went where for?" she demanded.

"To Africa," he clarified. "I went to Africa, but it had nothing to do with you."

"Oh really?" She stalked up beside him. "Think again."

"I am." He raised his hand to his head, visibly wracking his brain. "I didn't do anything. I made a deal with this demon, for myself, not for you."

Buffy glared at him.

"Look, I seriously don't know what's happened. Did Giles say anything else?"

"Just that I shouldn't trust you. And hey? That's not really a problem."

"I didn't do anything. I swear."

"What about the soul?"

"Oh bleedin' hell!" he stormed. "Would you just get past the whole soddin' soul business? I told you before that you're wrong about it. Can we just get past it? Could you just kill me now and get it over with?"

"Not until I know what's going on with this hex that's hanging over my head." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "It has something to do with the dreams too. I'm sure of it."

"The dreams?" he stared at her, genuine confusion clouding his gaze.

"The dreams? The nightmares, I've been having? The strange way they always lead me to you."

"No," Spike pulled his eyes away and mumbled to himself. "You said I didn't hurt you in those dreams. I asked you and you said--"

"You don't."

"Then why do you think this has somethin' to do with the demon?"

"Giles does."

"Oh well, if Giles thinks it, then it must be true."

"I don't know what else to think," she said, calmly. "I've been dreaming about you. Seeing you, when I'm asleep. I saw William. I saw you in China. In New York. In all sorts of times and places that I've never been before."

Spike covered his head with his hands and began pacing about the floor. "No, this isn't happening. You . . ." he looked up at her, "you're having them too?"

"Too?"

"Yeah, luv, too. As in also? Although, mine don't go blithely along like moving picture postcards. You say I never hurt you in these dreams? Well, I've done enough damage in my own to haunt me for a lifetime."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean? What do you think I dream about every night? Every day? What do you think I see when I close my eyes? There's only one horror on this earth that could ever . . ." his voice trailed off.

"I don't know what's going on Spike. But I'm going to find out."

"I can't help you. I don't know anything."

"Well, until you do - until I do? - you can just keep on living." She turned to leave. "Because I'm not putting a stake through your heart until I get to the bottom of this. Until I know exactly what's going on."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

"Give me something. Anything!" Giles ranted as he paced back and forth in front of Willow.

"Well, there's a Carballo Demon that has green, glowing eyes. But they shoot out of its head and paralyze people. Apparently, they regenerate, like crabs legs or the two halves of a worm."

Giles stopped and glared at her sternly.

"Okay, okay, so no projectile optics. I get it."

"There must be something," he said, shaking his head, his shoulders slumping with worry. "There's nothing in that book about restoring souls, or vampire pacts, or granting wishes, or . . .?"

"Wait a second." Willow stopped and hurriedly flipped through to the index. A second later she opened the book to a page somewhere in the middle. "Wish Granting Demons," she read off the title of the chapter.

Giles sighed and sat down wearily in the chair across from her, leaning his head back against the frame. "Tell, me, are there, by any chance, green-eyed, wish-granting demons, who live in caves and make deals with vampires?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"You're joking right?" Giles sat up suddenly in his chair. 

"Nope. Here it is." She turned the book around for him to see. There was a picture beside the text. "The Ruglage Demon of deepest Africa. It says here it's just a myth - a legend perpetuated by superstitious natives - but I know what I saw. And this is it."

Giles pulled the book closer and pored over the faded print. He read, "The Ruglage Demon is purported to possess the ability to grant any wish so long as the supplicant has first completed a prescribed set of trials. If the supplicant completes these trials, then said supplicant will have their wish granted to the letter of their request - as the demon sees fit - by any means necessary."

Willow was leaning across the table, watching Giles. "So, what do you think Spike wished for?" 

"I don't know." He sat up and pushed the book away. "Maybe his soul. Maybe to make Buffy think he had a soul. God," he laughed, "maybe to have Buffy love him. It could be any number of things."

"We have to tell Buffy. Giles, she had to know what's going on."

"At this point," he pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, "I don't think she would care. Whatever this thing is, whatever Spike actually wished for, it's gotten to Buffy. She's under it's power, and she apparently is quite content to be there."

"What do you think we should do?"

"The only thing we can do. Go back to Sunnydale and stop Buffy from making the biggest mistake of her life."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Spike roamed the streets of Sunnydale, trying to clear his head. It was two o'clock in the morning, and even if he hadn't been a vampire, he wouldn't have been able to sleep. What was wrong with Buffy? Why couldn't she just kill him? Why was she holding back? She had killed scores of vampires in her time, so why couldn't she kill him? What was stopping her from taking that final step? 

And now she suspected he had a soul. "Damn it!" he exclaimed, as he stopped in front of a nearby palm tree and punched the trunk solidly with his fist. If he didn't assuage her of that little suspicion, she would never be able to do him in, never be able to move on with her life. All he had wanted was to come back to Sunnydale, find Buffy, let her beat him senseless, and then offer himself up to be staked. What was so bleedin' difficult about that? It should have been easy. A given. But it wasn't. Buffy wouldn't give in to him - okay, so really, what was new about that? - but why did she have to be so difficult?

Bravely driven by his own death wish, Spike made his way to Buffy's house. Maybe he couldn't get inside, but he was sure there was someway he could piss off the Slayer and her friends enough, to get someone to kill him. So, it wouldn't necessarily be Buffy. Maybe one of the Scoobies needed to commit a selfless act for their friend. Either way, it would end his torment. And maybe, just maybe, he could provoke Buffy into doing the job herself.

The house was quiet. All the lights were out, and he assumed everyone was asleep. Spike climbed up the back steps. He knew he wouldn't be welcome, there was little chance that Buffy hadn't had Red do a deinvite spell, but he figured he'd give it a shot anyway. Grabbing the knob firmly in his left hand, he turned it and pushed the door open. Apparently, Buffy still wasn't locking her doors.

Spike inhaled deeply and took a tentative step forward, expecting to be stopped by the invisible barrier. But there was none. Before he knew what had happened, his feet had carried him over the threshold, and he was standing in Buffy's kitchen. 

"Bloody hell," he whispered under his breath. She hadn't done a deinvite spell. Good God, what was wrong with the girl?! 

Spike looked around, trying to get his bearings. It had been a long time since he had been in Buffy's house. He had honestly thought he'd never see the place again.

Quietly, he crept out into the entryway and looked up the stairs. Well, if anything was going to get him killed, it would be showing up in Buffy's bedroom at a quarter-past-two in the morning. 

With predatory stealth, he mounted the stairs. No need to wake Nibblet if he didn't have to. Spike stopped in the upstairs hallway. All of the doors were closed, including Buffy's. 

He made his way down the hall and stopped in front of her door. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he steeled his nerves and gently pushed it open. 

The room was dark, the curtains were drawn so that not even a single beam of moonlight penetrated the blackness. Spike stepped cautiously inside. He didn't want to disturb her until he was ready. He listened for her breathing, but didn't hear anything. He took a step closer to the bed and looked down. But there was no Buffy.

He raised his eyes and looked around. Something was different. The furniture was different. Buffy's things were gone. What the hell was going on?

Spike stepped back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Where was Buffy? He took a moment to calm his nerves. She had to be somewhere. 

Spike concentrated and tried to follow her scent. The entire house smelled of Buffy, but the strongest scent came from across the hall. 

Spike crossed to the other door, to the room that had been Joyce's, and then Red and Tara's. Listening closely, he heard the sound of faint breathing coming from inside. Spike turned the knob and entered the room. 

The window was open and a soft stream of moonlight cascaded across the bed, giving him an enchanted view of Buffy, deeply enraptured in sleep. She was magnificent. As beautiful as he had ever seen her. Spike nearly cried from the pain of wanting to touch her. He knew he couldn't, but his heart still sang for her.

He approached the bed and stood over her. He didn't quite understand why she was here, in the new room. All he could think was that Willow and Tara had finally gotten their own place. How lonely Buffy must be without them. 

Buffy stirred slightly, a tiny sigh escaping her lips. Spike's eyes were instantly drawn to those lips. How much he longed to kiss her, to hold her, to tell her that he was sorry and that everything would be all right. He knew he couldn't, but it was a lovely dream.

Buffy turned toward him slightly, the strap of her tank top slipping from her shoulder and exposing a luscious expanse of flesh. Spike inhaled a sharp breath at the sight of her freshly exposed skin. 

Buffy opened her eyes at the sound. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Spike's eyes shot up in surprise. He looked at Buffy, who was already wrapping the bedsheet protectively against her chest. "I . . . I . . ."

"You what Spike?"

"I . . ." He didn't know what to say. He hadn't exactly gotten that far with his plan.

"You've got two seconds to explain yourself before I get out of this bed and kick you out on your ass. Talk. Now."

"Talk. Right. Okay." He searched for something to say. "Why am I here?"

"Yes, that is the question," she said, clearly annoyed.

"Patrolling. I was out patrolling, and I heard a noise, and I thought I'd come in and investigate."

Buffy gave him a hard look.

"All right fine. I was hoping that I'd show up here in the middle of the night, break into your house and it would piss you off so much that you'd just say the hell with it and dust me. Are you happy now?"

"Not so much." Buffy climbed out of bed, still clutching the sheet for protection. She grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her, dropping the sheet once she was completely covered. She turned back to look at him. "Seriously Spike, why are you here?"

"I just told you. Damn, difficult girl," he grumbled under his breath.

Buffy folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, waiting for an answer.

"Oh bleedin' hell! I'm evil, remember? It's what I do. I break into places, steal stuff, stalk little girls. It's my calling."

"Well, you're not very good at it."

"Never said I was pet."

They stood there in silence, in the half-darkness, for a long moment. Finally Spike said, "So, I guess the birds have taken flight, huh? Got themselves their own place."

"What?" Buffy looked up at him, a confused look creasing her face.

"Red and the little witch. They're not here anymore."

Buffy stared at him, as if in disbelief. She shook her head. "You don't know," she said, more to herself than to him.

"Know what?"

"Tara . . ." Buffy stopped. 

Spike could see that she was visibly shaken. Whatever it was, it must be bad. Instinctively, he took a step closer to her. He wanted to reach out and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but he couldn't. "It's all right luv." He tried to reassure her. "Whatever it is, it's all right."

Buffy looked up at him, her gaze once again strong and resolute. "Tara's dead. Warren killed her."

Spike just stared at Buffy, his mouth open, not knowing what to say. The witch was dead? Where the hell was Willow? "And Red?" he finally asked, once he had regained the ability to speak.

"She killed Warren."

"What?"

Buffy moved toward the bed, obviously trying to release some nervous energy. "She got involved in some bad magic. Well, you know she was going to see Rack. It got out of hand and she couldn't control it. She murdered Warren in her grief. Ripped the skin from his body and let him die."

Spike stared at her, horrified. It went beyond reason. What the hell had happened when he was gone? He wasn't sure what to say. "Are you . . . okay?"

She looked up at him, the beginnings of tears behind her eyes. She swiped them away nervously with the back of her hand. "Me? Yeah, I'm fine. It's been a couple of months now. Willow's doing better. She's in England, with Giles. He's trying to rehabilitate her."

"Gonna take a lot more than Watcher Boy to get her past that."

"I know."

"So, it's just you and Dawn then, is it?"

Buffy eyed him suspiciously, as if wondering about his motives for asking. "Me and Dawn and Xander, yeah. Anya doesn't come around much these days. You know, humans. Not really her crowd anymore."

"Well, can't say I blame her."

"Right, so now humans aren't good enough company for you?" she asked, slightly offended.

"As if you care."

"I don't. But, neither do I like being insulted in my own home."

"Right, that's all."

"It is," she insisted resolutely.

"Whatever you say pet."

Buffy took a sidelong glance at Spike. What was he up to? He had some nerve showing up in her bedroom in the middle of the night. She had half a mind to stake him, but she knew that would just be giving him what he wanted. And she certainly couldn't give into Spike. Giving into Spike was wrong. Yes, very, very wrong. Only sick, deranged, back-from-the-dead Buffy ever gave into Spike. She liked to think she was long past that stage, even if her dreams were telling her otherwise.

Buffy had been more than a little disturbed to learn that Spike seemed to be sharing her nightmares. Or at the very least, having a series of his own. It didn't surprise her that there was a connection, she just didn't know what it all meant. 

She had tried to give what Giles had said every consideration, but in spite of his fear, Buffy was having trouble believing that Spike had cast a spell on her. It wasn't that she thought Spike incapable of any number of nefarious schemes to win her back, but he had changed. There was something different in him now. Something Buffy couldn't believe was capable of doing her harm. Whatever hex had been placed on her head, did not change the fact that Spike might very well have a soul. Nothing terrible had happened, in the past months, other than the dreams. Perhaps that was all the spell covered. She'd have nightmares until she was driven to insanity and killed Spike in a burst of crazed insomnia. 

Besides, in spite of herself, Buffy had begun to feel her own sense of remorse where Spike was concerned. Whatever had happened to him, whatever had reduced him to this shell of his former self, had been her doing. She realized that now. Buffy had done some hard thinking the past few days. And she had figured something out, something she had been desperately trying to bury in a whirlwind of self-pity and denial; she hadn't been completely blameless in the disaster that had been the end of their relationship. She had hurt Spike. She had beaten him down and abused him in ways she had never imagined herself capable of. She had turned into the monster she was always accusing him of being. She knew that now, could finally admit it to herself. She had been hurt, but that wasn't any excuse. Whatever desperate action Spike had taken in Africa, had all been her doing. She had driven him to it. Now, even if she couldn't say that she was sorry, maybe she could at least help him through whatever torment she had selfishly inflicted upon him. She had to know what had happened. She had to know what he had done. 

Buffy crossed the floor and flipped on the light switch beside the door, drowning the room in a warm, yellow glow. So far, since his return, she had only seen Spike in dreary, dimly lit places. She wanted to see him again, to get a better look at him. If he did have a soul, maybe she could find her proof in the uncompromising light of a few sixty-watt bulbs.

Buffy turned around and leaned against the door. "So," she said, staring him down, "now that we're on my turf, we're going to play by my rules."

"What?" Spike seemed surprised.

Buffy smiled at him knowingly. "I want to play a little game Spike," she said, as she moved up toward him and slid her hands under the collar of his denim jacket. 

"What kind of game?" He tried to pull away but she grabbed his collar and pulled him closer.

"The kind with a winner and a loser," she whispered almost seductively in his ear. 

"And does losing involve getting a stake through my heart?" 

"Maybe. If you're lucky."

He narrowed his eyes and gave her a probing look. "Have you been drinking?"

"Would you rather that I had been?"

"Well, it would explain a few things."

"Spike," she spoke his name ever so softly.

"Buffy, luv. You really shouldn't be doing this. Do you have any idea . . .?"

"I have every idea. And I don't care." Buffy leaned in close to him. She pressed herself against him suggestively, his body instantly reacting to the close contact in spite of his nervousness. Buffy wasn't sure what she was doing. She had just wanted to get a closer look at him, to look into his eyes and see if she could find proof of her suspicions there. But being close to him was affecting her in an unexpected way. It was just like her dreams. She knew she should be repulsed by his touch, but she wasn't. She was drawn to him. A small sob escaped her throat as she leaned in and gently kissed him.

The kiss only lasted a second, but it was enough. Buffy's heart was racing, her blood pounding in her ears. She opened her eyes and stared into his smoky orbs. This was research, pure and simple, she told herself. She was testing him. There was something different about Spike, and this might be her only way to find out. 

As soon as the kiss ended, Spike tried to pull away, but she held onto him. "Bloody hell! What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?! Buffy you seriously need a good psychiatrist if you think nothing's wrong with you. Why are you doing this?"

Why was she doing this? Buffy looked into his eyes again and found her answer. She wanted him to let his guard down so that she could see him, really see him. She didn't want him hiding from her anymore. She locked her arms about his neck, holding him in place. "Tell me what you did."

"What?"

"I want to know. The truth."

"Is that what this is about? Buffy." He moved to walk away, but her hold was firm. 

"I want to know. I'm not going to let you go until you tell me the truth."

"There's nothing to tell."  


"Soul or no soul? Spike, I have to know."

"What bleedin' difference does it make?" He put an inch of space between them and grabbed her wrists, freeing her arms from around his neck. As soon as he was free, he let her go, dropping her arms as if she had burned him. 

"It makes a lot of difference."

"Well, not to me. Look, luv, I didn't come here to ask for anything but my release from the chains of this life. I don't want forgiveness. I'm not the Magnificent Poof, you know? Soul's not my thing."

"I know what I saw."

"You don't know anything."

"Why are you denying it? Tell me, if it's not a soul, what is it? What's changed in you?"

Spike turned and stared at her uncertainly. He seemed to be contemplating his answer. "If I tell you, tell you the truth - the whole, ugly, unvarnished truth - will you promise that, when it's over, you'll give me what I want?"

Buffy knew better than to ever make a deal with a demon, but she felt in this instance, she actually had the upper hand. Let Spike ask her to kill him. She knew it wasn't what he really wanted, so she could always say no in the end.

"All right. You tell me the truth, and I'll give you what you want."

Spike sighed in frustration. He was a damn, bloody fool, and he knew it. The last time he had made a deal with someone, he had ended up cursed with this soul. Still, it was a chance. Buffy wasn't all that keen on dusting him anyway. Making a deal might be his only option.

Spike crossed the room. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the bed.

"Yeah. Sure." Buffy said weakly, apparently slightly stunned that he would ask. 

If he was going to bare his heart and soul, at least he wanted to be comfortable doing it. He sat down on the corner of the bed and began to talk. "Okay. Here it goes. You're right. Are you happy now? You're right, I did get my soul back."

"I knew it!"

"You don't have to sound so happy."

"I'm not." Buffy pretended to sober up. "I am shocked and horrified."

"Yeah, you look like you're just about ready to faint from the shock. So, yeah, I got my soul back. Went to this demon in Africa, made a deal - not unlike this one - and got my soul back."

"Wait," Buffy seemed genuinely confused. "You sought it out?"

"Yeah, well, not really that bright after all, am I? Shoulda known there was a reason the gypsies called it a curse."

"Why?" Buffy absently drifted toward the bed and sat down beside him. "Why on earth would you . . .? Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh.'" Spike shook himself and stood up. "It doesn't really matter now. Getting the soul taught me a few things, a few things I really think I was better off not knowing."

"And the spell?" she asked meekly.

"There is no spell. I told you that before," he protested heatedly.

"But Giles . . ."

"I don't care what Giles said. There is no spell. No second part to this madness. Just me going to that demon and getting my soul back," he laughed to himself, "so I could give you what you deserve."

"What I deserve?"

"Yeah," he shook his head "don't ask. It's all over now, though. Just one thing left to do, and I can rest."

"And what is that?" Buffy looked up at him.

"It's time for you to kill me, luv. Give me what I want."

Buffy stood, turning her body to face him. Mere inches separated them. "Are you sure that's what you want?'' 

"Yes," he said honestly. "It is. It's right. It's the right thing to do Buffy."

"When have I ever cared about something being the right thing to do? I make my own rules. I'm the Slayer."  


"It's time."

Buffy stared silently into his deep, earnest eyes. He truly wanted to die by her hand. Why? 

The guilt. 

Well, he wasn't the only one who was feeling guilty. She had her part in it too. She had been the one who had driven him over the edge and now here they were, both trying to deal with the consequences in their own way. Buffy didn't want to face the ugliness inside herself anymore than Spike did. But it all had to be faced. They had to face the truth together.

Buffy inhaled a much-needed breath and prepared for a fight. "This is all because of me, isn't it? Because of what happened."

"Buffy don't."

"Don't what? Talk about it? It's the reason you want me to kill you, right? It's the issue we've been so cleverly avoiding. Why don't we talk about it Spike? If you're going to die anyway, why don't we talk about it?" 

"All right. If that's what you like. What do you want me to say?"

"How about that you're sorry?"

"I told you, I wasn't asking for forgiveness."

"Why? Because you don't want it, or because you don't believe you deserve it?"

"I don't."

"You're wrong. You're not the only one at fault here."

"Good God, Buffy! Listen to yourself. I'm not the only one at fault?" He pulled away from her and started to pace. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you? You do realize that this isn't normal, that this isn't right?" He stopped and turned toward her. "I tried to rape you Buffy! That's not something you just forgive. It's not something you just get over."

"I'm not over it, but that doesn't mean--"

"You know I would have done it, right? If you hadn't have stopped me, I would have gone through with it."

"Spike, I--"

"Buffy, listen to me," he came to stand in front of her, his hands pressed together just inches from her face. "I am a monster. Not to be trusted, and never to be forgiven. Let me go." He dropped his hands. "Do as I've asked."

Buffy let out a long, frustrated sigh. So, that was it? Spike wanted to die for what he'd done to her. Wanted her to be the one to drive the stake through his heart, because he felt guilty about hurting her. Well, she couldn't do it. Now, more than ever. He loved her, he really did. Soul or no soul, she could honestly see that now. There had been moments in the past when she had convinced herself that it was just an obsession, that his crush had simply gotten out of control. But that wasn't true. It hadn't been true then, and it wasn't now. He really did love her. He had gotten his soul back for her, cursed himself for all eternity, and now he wanted to sacrifice himself for her happiness. How pathetically misguided he was.

"All right Spike. I'll give you what you want. I'll kill you."

"Oh thank God." He let out a powerful sigh of relief. "So, how do you wanna do this?"

"Well, I'll have to think about it."

"What?"

"Well, you didn't expect me to just do it tonight, did you? I've got stuff to do in the morning. It's late," she yawned, "and I'm really tired. So," she pushed him toward the door, "nighty-night Spike."

"You're kicking me out?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Sending you home, actually. Don't worry, I won't forget my promise."

"Yeah, but Slayer . . ."

She opened the door. "Goodnight Spike." She shoved him out into the hall and closed her door after him. Buffy listened for a moment, until she heard him make his way down the stairs. Then she turned, took off her robe, and got back into bed. She didn't know what she was going to do in the morning, but at least now she had some idea about what to do with Spike.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

"So, he's got a soul, you say?" Xander asked as he listened to Buffy tell the story for the third time.

"Yes. For better or for worse, he does."

"Well, kind of gives Angel some competition, doesn't it? I mean, now there can be two broody vampires who help the helpless, and generally make idiots of themselves."

Buffy gave him a hard look. "Spike's not exactly the broody kind, and besides, even with a soul, I can't really see him out helping the helpless. Not really his style."

"Well, you never know. Hey, wouldn't it be neat if he and Angel became friends? Spike could go to LA, join the gang, and we'd never have to see him again."

"Yeah, that would be swell."

"And you're sure you believe him?" a very suspicious Dawn asked, as she sat down at the table next to Xander.

"Yes. I've seen it for myself. Don't ask me to explain it, but it's just one of those things that I know."

"So what does this mean exactly? That you forgive him and everything goes back to the way it was?"

"I don't think so." Buffy looked down at the table, trying to contemplate her answer. "I think things are going to change." She looked up at Dawn. "They have to change. I just don't know how."

"You're going back to him, aren't you?" Dawn asked, a slight edge to her voice.

"I don't know. But I think it's time I figured that out."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

The doorbell rang. Buffy trudged down the stairs to answer it. It rang again. "Okay, I'm coming, I'm coming. Jeez, give a girl a few seconds to get down the stairs, why don't you?" She got to the door and opened it. "Giles!" she squeaked when she saw who it was.

"Yes, that's right, Giles. It's good to see you too Buffy."

She smiled slightly and moved forward to give him a much-needed hug. "Oh, Giles, I'm so glad you're here. I could use the help." She pulled away and stepped back into the entryway.

"And that is why I'm here." He moved inside and put his bags on the floor. Then, he closed the door and turned back to Buffy. "Buffy we need to talk. This is very serious."

"I know."

"No. I'm afraid you don't. I didn't want to warn you over the phone. I was afraid that you wouldn't take me seriously. And Buffy, you have to understand, this is very serious. We know what Spike has done. And it isn't good."

"I know." She lowered her gaze and stared absently at her shoes. "He made a deal with a demon."

"You know?" Giles seemed genuinely surprised. 

"Yeah," she looked back up at her mentor. "He told me. Told me he made a deal with a demon and got his soul back."

"Yes, and of course, you know it's always wise to accept, at face value, the word of a psychotic serial killer."

"Giles, it's not like that." She turned and stepped into the living room.

Giles followed. "Buffy, it is like that. Yes, Spike did make a deal with a demon. The Ruglage Demon of Africa."

"How do you know that?" she asked in surprise.

"It's called 'research' Buffy. What you promised me you would be doing these past few days, if you recall? Now, the Ruglage is a wish-granting demon. If the supplicant - in this case Spike - survives a series of prescribed trials--"

"Trials? What kind of trials?"

"Probably involving some form of torture, or a test of endurance. It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter? You're telling me Spike may have had to go through hell to get his soul back and it doesn't matter?"

"It's not important Buffy. Will you please let me finish?"

She glared at him, but didn't say another word.

"If the supplicant survives these trials, the demon is obligated to grant his or her wish to the exact letter of the request, as the demon sees fit. Buffy," Giles moved closer to her, "whatever Spike wished for could not have been good. Perhaps he did get his soul back, but even so, there is more to this than that. He wished for something more. He's lying to you if he tells you any differently."

"He isn't."

"Yes Buffy, he is. Good God, is this part of the spell? He's thoroughly bewitched you. Don't you see? Whatever he's done has affected your judgement."

"No Giles it hasn't. I realize that you think I'm incapable of discerning my own feelings, of acting the responsible adult, but I'm not."

"Buffy, I have never said any such thing."

"Then stop treating me like a child. Look Giles, I know there's something going on here. I'm not oblivious to it. But it's not what you think. Spike asked for his soul back." She looked away from him and added softly, "For me."

"For you? Buffy, what are you talking about? What, exactly, did Spike say to you?"

She still couldn't meet his gaze. "Just that he had made a deal with a demon. That he had gotten his soul back, so he could give me what I deserve."

"What . . . what you deserve?" Giles stumbled over the sentence. "Were those his exact words?"

"To the demon?" She finally raised her eyes to meet his gaze. "I don't know. But that's what he said to me."

Giles let out a heavy sigh and sat down on the arm of the sofa wearily. "Splendid. Just splendid." 

"Why?" she asked. "What's the problem?"

Giles sighed in irritation. "If those were his exact words, that would mean that this Ruglage demon has set about trying to fulfill that part of the wish. Trying to give you 'what you deserve,' whatever that means. Buffy," he pulled up to the edge of the couch, "you must be extremely careful. This demon has it in for you, and I'm not sure if there's any way we can break the spell. We may simply have to pray that whatever it is that you deserve, does not involve your gruesome, horrible death."

"And the dreams?" 

He took off his glasses and started cleaning them in frustration. "Apparently part of the demon's plan to manipulate you, to move you along the path it has chosen for you. It would certainly explain why your dreams all took place within the framework of Spike's life. The demon must have used Spike's psyche to construct its malicious web. Buffy, you must not let those dreams control you. You must steel yourself against them," he warned.

"Shouldn't be that hard." She shrugged. "The dreams have stopped. I haven't had one since before Spike came back to town." 

"Well let's hope that's an end to it, because if they start again . . ."

"I'll just, be prepared."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

__

He was in pain. Mind-numbing, soul-searing pain. His ribs were broken, his body covered in innumerable cuts and bruises. His skin was on fire. He could feel each welt, each scrape, as if it were being freshly made. He tried to move, but couldn't. Tried to open his eyes, but one was already swollen shut and he couldn't bear to make the effort. 

It was cold were he was. Hard and cold. His body stretched out flat on an uncompromising slab. It just added to his agony. 

A door opened, somewhere close by. He heard it slam shut a second later. Spike knew that sound. It was the door to his crypt. Bloody hell, what had happened to him?

As the echo of the slamming door faded away, he heard the unmistakable sound of light footsteps coming toward him. Her footsteps. He'd know that sound anywhere. She came to stand beside him, the intoxicating scent of vanilla assaulting his nostrils, clouding his already befuddled mind. 

"Spike, you're covered in sexy wounds," he heard her say, an uncharacteristic chipperness to her voice.

"Oh God," he groaned to himself. He knew now exactly where he was. When_ he was. It was another bloody nightmare. _

Spike forced himself up to a sitting position. He cracked open one battered eye and stared at the girl before him. She was wearing that ridiculous pink pleated skirt with the pink top. He knew she hated it, but he had always kind of liked it. He eyed her suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for you Spike. To see if I could help you. You're hurt." She moved closer to touch him, but he pulled away.

"No you're not. You're here for somethin' else."

She stared at him, momentarily confused. Then her demeanor changed and she offered him a small smile. "You're right. I am here for another reason Spike." This, finally, was Buffy. "Do you know what it is?" she asked, cocking her head to the side and taking a step closer.

"Let me guess, pet? You want to kill me? Want me to beg you to kill me?"

"Isn't that what you deserve?" she asked, putting her hands against his chest and pushing him down onto the sarcophagus.

"Yeah." He laughed. "You gonna give it to me Slayer? You gonna do it?"

She got on top of him, straddling his body and pressing a stake to his heart. "Is that what you really want Spike?" She started drawing slow circles on his chest with the point of the stake.

He stared up at her, his pain long forgotten. He couldn't feel anything anymore. Not his broken bones, not the sore spots scorching his flesh. Just Buffy. Only Buffy. Sitting on top of him, her body pressed to his in the worst possible places. He drew in a heavy breath. "Yes," he forced the word from his throat.

"Really?" she questioned him with wide, hazel eyes.

"Yes."

She dropped the stake by his side, and began running a solitary finger along the lines of his chest. "Are you sure?"

"Yes Buffy. Yes. It's what I deserve."

"All right," she said. "If you say so." 

Before he realized what was happening, she stuck her finger deep into his chest and started twisting it into his organs.

Spike screamed out in pain. Buffy just laughed.

"You wanted to give me what I deserved Spike. Isn't this what I deserve? Killing you is too easy," she said, as she reclaimed the stake and drove it into one of his lungs. "Spike the Human Pincushion. You know? I kind of like the sound of that." She raised the weapon again and found a fresh place to penetrate, being certain to steer clear of his heart. "You won't get away with it that easy Spike. No quick little dusting for you." She smiled. "I'm going to take my time." She twisted the stake. 

He screamed again. 

"After all, it's what you deserve."

The pain was excruciating. He wanted to fight back, but knew he couldn't. He couldn't move, couldn't touch her. All he could do was stare up in horror as she exacted her revenge on his already broken body. 

The blood was now pouring from him, seeping out of his wounds and trickling down his sides. How long did she plan to keep him alive? How long was she going to torture him? 

"Spike," she whispered his name and wriggled her hips against his pelvis, instantly taking his mind off the pain and getting his full attention. "There's a good little puppy. You know you deserve to suffer right?" She began using her fingernails to cut fresh grooves in his flesh. "For all eternity? You don't even deserve this, but you have to accept it Spike. Take what I'm offering and be a good little doggy." She pouted.

"Buffy," he rasped.

"Yes Spike?" she leaned closer, laying her chest flush against his. 

"Kill me."

She laughed - a cold, viscous, hollow laugh - as she picked up the stake again and stared down at him. "Oh in time. In time. I promise." She brought the stake up and drove it into him, ripping a fresh whole in his gut.

Spike screamed, as she continued to laugh, the sounds mingling somewhere in the back of his mind. Then everything went black.

Spike opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. He was in his crypt. He was. He knew it. But not upstairs. Downstairs. He was staring at the cave-like ceiling of the lower level of his crypt. He could feel the borrowed blood rushing through his body, the fear and the pain still aching in his limbs.

He still felt trapped in his own nightmare. Tortured and confused by it. Why hadn't Buffy killed him, in his dream? She had killed him in the last one, the one that had led him back to Sunnydale. What were The Powers That Be, or his damned soul, or whoever was responsible for the soddin' nightmares, trying to tell him? He just wished that whoever it was, would finally stop screwing with him and let him die in peace. 

He had done what had been asked of him. He had come back to Sunnydale to give Buffy what she deserved, the chance to be the one to kill him, to seek her revenge and find peace. What the hell did they want from him now?

Spike sat up and tried to connect with reality. He was on the floor. Sitting on an old, musty blanket he had found among the rubble. His bed having been destroyed by dear old Soldier Boy, he was left with little choice. 

Spike stood and began pacing, trying to relieve the pent-up energy that was threatening to consume him. Where the hell was Buffy? It had been three days. Three bleedin' days since she had said she would kill him. What was so damn difficult about keeping that promise?  


He had half a mind to seek her out, and ask her that very question, but he knew it would only make things worse. He didn't want to see Buffy again until she had come to kill him. He'd see her one last time and then he could die a contented man.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

__

She was angry. Angrier than she had ever been. Her heart was pounding, her blood boiling in her veins. She wanted to kill him. She was going to kill him. It was right. It was time.

Buffy burst into the crypt, the door slamming against the wall with a loud bang. The sound barely registered through the turmoil in her brain. 

He was sitting in the chair in front of her. Now he was standing, staring at her. "Shoulda known it's you. Been nearly six hours."

Six hours? What the hell was he talking about? She didn't care. She pulled the stake from her back pocket and walked toward him, determination in her stride. "I'm done Spike. You're a killer. And I shoulda done this years ago." 

His eyes locked with hers and he stared back defiantly. "You know what? Do it. Bloody just do it." 

"What?"

"End . . . my . . . torment. Seeing you, every day, everywhere I go, every time I turn around. Take me out of a world that has you in it!" He pulled off his shirt and threw it to the ground. "Just kill me!"

Buffy stared back at him slightly in shock. She had been to his crypt so many times over the years, but this? This she didn't remember. It was all new to her. He wanted her to kill him. She wanted to kill him. But she couldn't.

Buffy could already feel her blood begin to sing. A dizzying hum was spreading through her body, buzzing through her veins at an alarming rate. He was breathing heavy, his eyes alive with an unbearable fire. He was so close, so beautiful. She just wanted to reach out and touch him. 

She couldn't. She had to do what she had come for. She had to kill him.

Buffy pulled back the stake and took a step toward him. She was ready. She would do it. She would. 

He was staring down at her. His eyes searching hers. He was fighting it too. They both were. She couldn't give in. She had to kill him.

She was breathing hard now. She couldn't hold out any longer. She dropped the stake and grabbed him by the arms, pulling him to her. She kissed him hard. 

Buffy's mind was racing. Oh God, what was wrong with her? She wanted him. Oh God how desperately she wanted him.

She slid her hands down to his waist and Spike moved to take her by the arms, drawing her closer. She didn't want it to stop. She didn't ever want it to stop.

He ravaged her mouth with his own, devouring her whole. Buffy was lost, her mind a hazy fog. Nothing mattered but what she was feeling, but what Spike was doing to her.

He lowered his head to kiss her neck, instinctively finding the pulse there, throbbing under her skin. "Buffy, I want you," he whispered against her throat as he continued to kiss her.

"Spike, I love you." The words poured from her lips unchecked. "God I love you so much."

Instantly Buffy awoke. She sat bolt upright in bed. Her heart was thundering in her chest, her skin covered in a cold sweat. She was panting. 

In love with Spike? Oh God. She could hear herself saying it, over and over again in her head, "Spike, I love you." The words reverberating through her skulls. 

She was trembling; her limbs shaking, her pulse racing. She tried to slow her breathing but couldn't. What was she going to do? She had denied it for so long, was it really true?

Reaching beside her, she grabbed a pillow and clutched it to her chest. Leaning back against the headboard, she began to cry. 

It was true. Oh God, it was true. She loved Spike. She did. In spite of everything, when it came down to it, she loved him. 

Damn that evil African demon! That's what the dreams had been about all along, hadn't they? She deserved Spike, could only ever find happiness with him. Damn soul-searching dreams! She couldn't deny it any longer. 

He wanted to die by her hand. She had the power of life or death over him. It was time she told him the truth. Time she faced her feelings and her fears and let him in. She had to save Spike, from her and from himself. She loved him, she knew that now. Now she just had do something about it.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty-one

"Are you sure?" Giles asked, as he balanced the phone between his shoulder and his ear, trying to flip through the pages of the book cradled in his arm.

"I'm positive," Willow said, on the other side of the phone. "I did it this morning and everything's fine. Nothing to worry about Giles. Whatever curse has been hanging over Buffy's head has been lifted. Gone. Poof. Just like that."

"Yes, well, nothing is ever gone 'just like that.'" He snapped the book shut in frustration and put it down on the table, switching the receiver to his other ear. "Willow, are you positive?"

"Yes Giles. The curse is gone. I don't know how or why, but it's definitely dissipated. I'm not the only one who saw it either. I was working with the coven and we all saw the same thing."

"Splendid."

"Hey Giles, why so glum? I thought this was a good thing. You know? Buffy, released from Spike's evil curse?"

"Yes, if you believe that Buffy _is_ released from Spike's curse. Her attitude toward him has been rather odd lately. I don't believe she sees him as a threat. I was hoping that we'd find a way to break the spell and everything would go back to normal, but now, I don't know what we're dealing with."

"Well, maybe things have gone back to normal. Have you seen Buffy yet today?"

"Thankfully no."

"Giles!" Willow scolded.

"Oh right, right, sorry. It's just, her blithely optimistic attitude is becoming unbearable. She thinks she knows him, and she's prepared for anything he tries. But she's not. He's blindsided her, and she refuses to see it."

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Look Willow, I think Buffy's awake. I'm going to try to have an intelligent conversation with her. Call me if you find anything else."

"Will do, Giles. And call me and let me know how things work out with Buffy. I don't want to see her get hurt."

"Neither do I. Goodbye Willow."

"Bye Giles."

Buffy entered the kitchen just as Giles hung up the phone. "Hey, was that Willow?" she asked, wearily shuffling across the tiled floor. 

Giles turned to address her. "Yes, that was Willow." He stopped for a moment to stare at her. She was still dressed in her pajamas, her hair piled in a makeshift knot on her head. She looked tired, like she hadn't slept in weeks. "Buffy," he began gently, "is everything all right?"

She looked over her shoulder at him as she opened the fridge and pulled out a container of milk. "Yeah, everything's fine. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because you look like death warmed over." He moved across the room and stood beside her. "Are you sure you're all right? Are you having the dreams again?"

Buffy closed the refrigerator door and moved to get herself a bowl and cereal. She wouldn't look Giles in the eye as she spoke. "I had _a_ dream last night. Just one. And it wasn't like any of the others."

"In what way?"

Buffy sighed heavily, as she sat down at the island, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her frustration. She looked up to meet Giles' curious gaze. "I told Spike that . . ." She couldn't finish. It was the last thing on earth Giles wanted to hear, and she knew it. How was she supposed to tell Giles that she was in love with Spike?

"You told him what?"

"I . . . Giles, I don't know how to say this. You're not going to like it. You're going to tell me it's all the spell. But it's not all the spell. That wasn't the point of the spell. I get it now. Somehow I get it. It all makes sense to me."

"What does?"

"The dreams. Me, dreaming about Spike. About being with Spike. I know why now. I know what it was that Spike wished for."

"Yes, for you to get what you deserve," Giles sat down in the stool across from her and leaned forward trying to engage her attention, "but Buffy--"

"I love him Giles."

"What?!" Giles nearly fell off the chair. "You . . . you don't know what you're saying."

"I do," she said calmly. "I know, it doesn't seem to make much sense. And I know it's the last thing you ever wanted to hear. But it's true Giles. That's what all the dreams were about. I love Spike, and I need him to be happy. And that happiness is what I deserve."

"This is preposterous! Buffy, Spike is a killer. A monster. A demon. He's only going to hurt you. It's all he's ever done. You can't trust him. And you can't tell me he's what you deserve. I know you Buffy. And if you don't mind my saying so, you're like a daughter to me. I have always wanted better for you. Certainly better than Spike. Don't throw you're life away on this." 

Buffy rested her hands on the table and Giles covered hers with his own. 

"Don't let him do this to you. Not because of some ridiculous spell."

"It's not the spell," she reassured him. "The spell was just a means to an end. A way to get me to see the truth. To accept it."

Giles pulled back in frustration and rose from his chair. He began pacing the floor. "This is insane Buffy! Completely and totally beyond reason. He's bewitched you and you don't even see it."

Buffy got up and crossed around the table, standing before Giles defiantly. "And you won't see that he sacrificed for me. That he risked everything to get his soul back and to make me happy."

"Happy?" he scoffed. "Have you ever been _happy_ with Spike? Even once in all the time you've known him?"

"That's not the point."

"It is the point. Buffy, you deserve a lot of things in this life, but Spike isn't one of them. He will only bring you heartache and pain. Buffy, please, don't do this to yourself."

Buffy looked away from him, trying to think, trying to sort through her own feelings. She loved Giles. He was like a father to her. And although she hadn't expected him to be happy for her, she had hoped that he would at least understand. It wasn't an easy thing, facing her feelings for Spike. It was something she herself was tempted to run from, but she had spent too much of her life running, and it was time she stopped. She had always had feelings for Spike, but she had never been able to admit it. Not even to herself. It had seemed too hard, too complicated. It would have left her vulnerable and she hadn't wanted to risk that. Now she had no choice. She had admitted the truth to herself and the rest simply had to follow.

Buffy had thought long and hard about everything last night. It had been so easy to deny that she had any feelings for Spike when he was halfway across the world. Even when her dreams had told her that she wanted him, she had been able to ignore it, more or less, bury those thoughts and feelings in the light of day. 

But now, things were different. 

Until Spike had come back, Buffy hadn't realized just how much she had missed him. Sunnydale had become a very lonely place that summer, with everyone gone. Something in Buffy came to life again when Spike walked back into her world. She knew it was wrong, knew it went beyond reason, but she was beginning not to care. In spite of his past sins, Spike had proven something to her; he had proven that he was more man than beast. He had apparently risked a great deal to get his soul back. And he had done it all for her. What greater act of contrition was there? He had cursed himself to an eternity of guilt and torment, and then had willingly tried to sacrifice his life to her. Somehow, those acts spoke louder than any simple "I'm sorry." He was sorry, and she knew it. Now she just had to convince him that he was worthy of forgiveness.

Finally, she looked up at Giles again. Maybe changing the subject would help. "What did Willow want?" she asked.

Giles sighed and moved back toward the table, avoiding her gaze. "Just to tell me that the coven had done a little experiment. It seems they tried their own protection spell on you, and it appears that . . ." He sighed again. "The curse has been lifted."

"What?"

"Apparently, there is no longer a black cloud hanging over your head. They, of course, seemed quite thrilled about it. I'm not so sure."

"Wait. The curse is gone? When did this happen?"

"Apparently sometime within the past few days."

"Last night," she said to herself.

"What was that?" Giles looked up at her.

"Last night. The curse must have been lifted last night when I had that dream, when I woke up, I realized . . ."

"Buffy."

"Giles, it's your proof. This isn't a spell. It's me, just dealing with my own feelings for once. You know Spike was having dreams too?"

"Spike?"

"Yeah, although I'm not quite sure what they were about. What if his dreams led him back here? They led us together Giles. That was the point."

"No. I don't like this."

"Do you have some other explanation?"

"I'm sure there are plenty. Spike wished that you would fall in love with him and you did."

"You don't believe that."

"No, you're right. I don't." Giles removed his glasses and began cleaning them furiously. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Yes, Giles I'm sure. I get it now. I get everything. And it's time I stopped being so afraid."


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty-two

Late that evening, Buffy made her way to Spike's crypt. She had spent all day worrying about how to handle the situation, and she thought she had finally come up with a plausible solution.

Buffy flung open the door to the crypt and stepped inside. Everything was quiet. She crossed the floor, wondering if perhaps he was hiding somewhere, but there was no sign of him. Making her way over to the ladder, she lowered herself down to the lower level. Even if he wasn't home, at least she knew where to wait for him.

Once her feet where firmly on the floor, Buffy turned around and surveyed the room. Much to her surprise, there were candles strewn about the rubble and a certain warm, homey feel to the place. She took a tentative step forward and narrowed her eyes, searching for Spike.

"Well, it's about damn time," a voice said from somewhere behind her.

Buffy swung around to see Spike standing behind her. "I told you I had some things to do. I do have a life you know?"

"Yeah, sure. But I was rather hoping that I wouldn't. Are you here to honor our agreement? To keep your promise?"

"Yes, but we have to do this my way, or not at all."

"Fine Slayer. Whatever you say." Spike tore off his shirt and let it drop to the floor, in much the same way he had in her last dream. "So, where do you want me?"

A tiny smile pulled at Buffy's lips. Yes, this was going to be fun, wasn't it? "Well, I need to be sure that you're not going to change your mind at the last minute and try and kill me instead."

He gave her an angry look. "If that's what I wanted, I would have killed you the other night, while you slept."

"So," Buffy ignored his comment as she drifted toward the far wall of the crypt and picked up one of the manacles that was still chained to the wall, "you'll need to be restrained."

"What? You must be joking! Just do it Slayer. Come on, what's stopping you?"

"Look Spike, if you don't want me to do this, I'll leave right now. It's not like there aren't other vampires to kill. So," she leveled her gaze at him, "do you want it, or not?"

Spike narrowed his eyes and stared at her suspiciously. What the bloody hell was she up to? 

"Don't you trust me?" she asked, pretending to be hurt.

"Is 'No' a strong enough answer?"

"I made you a promise. To give you what you want. I won't break it. I'll keep my word."

"Oh yeah, what I want. I've heard that one before. How big an idiot do you think I am?"  


"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Buffy. Slayer," he corrected himself. "Just get the damn thing over with!"

"And I will," she crossed the floor toward him and took him by the wrist, "as soon as you do as I say. This is my revenge after all, isn't it? Don't I have some say in how I get to exact it?"

Spike couldn't exactly argue with that. He didn't trust Buffy, couldn't tell exactly what she was up to, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it might not end with a piece of wood through his heart. Still, what choice did he have? 

Spike allowed Buffy to lead him over to the opening in the wall. One of the manacles still had the key in its lock. Buffy pocketed it before taking a hold of Spike's arm and raising it above his head.

The chains she put on his wrists were the very same chains he had used to chain her up with once, the previous year. God, the memory made him cringe. Maybe it was only fitting that he should meet his end shackled to the same wall he had chained Buffy to when he had first professed his love. There was nothing quite like poetic justice to add that extra sting to a bitter death.

Once he was securely in place, Buffy took a few steps back and pulled a stake from her back pocket. "You know, I've thought a lot about this." She began pacing back and forth in front of him. "Wondered what it would feel like, to finally stake you. It really, after all, is just supposed to make things easier. It's like spring cleaning for my life. But in this case, instead of sweeping away the dust bunnies, I get to dust away something even more bothersome and annoying." She stopped and turned to look at him. "Wouldn't it be great if everything in life was that easy? You know, have a problem, just put a stake through its heart? And 'poof,' the problem disappears. I kind of like that."

Spike narrowed his eyes and glared at her. She was rambling. He wondered if she was going to talk him to death. "You're point, Slayer?"

"Oh, right, my point. Well," she came up to him and pressed the stake to his chest, "my point is . . . that it's not that easy." She lowered the stake. "It's never been that easy. I know why you're doing this. I know you think it's what you want. But I can't do it. Because I deserve better."

"You?"

"Yes, me. I'm the one who's been through hell here Spike. I should be the one who gets to make the decisions. You want to die to spare me pain? To spare me the heartache? Well, just what the hell do you think is going to be left of me when you're gone? Do you think I'll really just recover, get over it and forget all about you? You always thought Angel was dense? Well, let me tell you something, you're giving him a run for his money. I can't kill you Spike. I won't kill you. Not for your sake, but for mine."

She stepped away from him and Spike just stared at her, her words whirling through his clouded mind. She wanted him? In her life? Was she completely and totally insane? What had he done to her? "Buffy? You can't mean any of this."

"Every word."

"No. Buffy, you don't need me. I'm not the only man in the world. Surely someone else . . ."

"There is no one else."

"Buffy, I know someone hurt you. Don't think that this is what you deserve. That you deserve to be hurt."

"What are talking about?" She seemed genuinely confused.

"I heard you talking. The first night I came back to Sunnydale. The night before you saw me. I was stalking you, again. In front of your house on movie night. Remember? No romance?"

She leveled a steady gaze at him. "You really do want to die tonight, don't you?"

"I know you weren't brokenhearted over me, so there must have been someone else. I drove you to someone else in your grief."

"Oh please," she mocked. "Now who's the one who's insane? You, Spike, are the only man I've been involved with in more than two years. Do you really think I ran off to someone else that quickly? Do you really think that I didn't care enough about you for you to be able to break my heart? My heart bled when you left. There's been no one else. And there'll be no one else." 

"No. No, I won't let you do this to yourself." He pulled at his chains, frustrated, trying to break free so he could shake some sense into her. 

"It's already done," she said matter-of-factly, as she folded her arms across her chest and stared at him. "Maybe I am a very sick girl. Maybe I do need a good psychiatrist. But you know what Spike? I don't care. I can't do this without you. Any of it. Don't leave me. Don't force me to kill you."

Spike was beyond speechless. He couldn't do anything but stare at Buffy and shake his head. He tried to make some sense of her words. She was lonely and she was lost. She didn't know what she was saying. She was almost alone in this world. Most of her friends were gone, her father figure was gone. She was just grasping. Desperately trying to find comfort and solace in a harsh world. Well he couldn't be that solace. Not again. Not after last time. 

"Buffy, I can't. You have to do this. You have to kill me. Sparing me is not the answer."

"Neither is killing you. I need you Spike."

"Don't. Don't even say it." He dropped his eyes and sighed heavily. "Bloody hell. Let's just get this over with."

Buffy drew closer to him, she took his chin in her hand and pulled his eyes up to meet hers. "Spike, look at me."

He closed his eyes and refused to meet her gaze.

"Spike, I . . . "

"Don't." He opened his eyes. "Oh God, don't. Buffy, let it go. Don't do this to yourself."

"I love you."

Spike felt like he was going to fall through the floor, in spite of the heavy chains that were holding him up. Now he knew she was completely off her bird. What was wrong with her? "You don't know what you're saying."

"I do." She let him go. "I know exactly what I'm saying, and exactly what I'm doing. Do you think this has been easy on me? Do you think it's been a picnic, having you gone after what you did to me? I've been tormented and tortured. I've tried everything I could think of to stop thinking about you, but nothing's worked. There's nothing on this earth pleasurable enough, or evil enough, to distract me from thoughts of you. Don't you think I know that it's wrong for me to feel this way? I know it. I'm not a complete idiot. But I can't help it. This goes beyond reason. You hurt me Spike. We both know that. But we've spent the past five years hurting each other and it's just become par for the course. What you did to me . . . what you did, may seem unforgivable, but it's no worse than the things I did to you this past year. I hurt you. I used you. You're not the only one who's sorry."

"It's not the same," he interrupted her.

"It is the same."

"No it's not. I tried to rape you."

"But you didn't."

"Because you stopped me. Do you really think we'd even be having this conversation if I had succeeded? No, I would have been dead a week ago."

"You have a soul now."

"Right, and that makes it all okay. Makes up for everything."

"No," she said quietly.

"Then why are you doing this? Why are you forgiving me and professing your undying love?"

"Because I need you. And because, believe it or not, you deserve it. Both my love and my forgiveness."

"Buffy," he tried to protest.

"No, Spike." She pulled the key from her pocket and reached up on her toes to unlock his shackles. "It's just time you accepted it." 

She stepped away from him and Spike eyed her curiously, as he rubbed one of his wrists. "You don't need to get hurt again."

"There is nothing on this earth that you, or anyone else can do to keep me from getting hurt again. That's life. What you can do," she moved closer to him, "is stand by me, and try to keep it from hurting so much."

Spike tore his eyes away from her. What was he supposed to do? He loved her, he always had, but he certainly shouldn't be rewarded for it. He had hurt her. He didn't deserve to be handed eternal happiness on a golden platter. "No," he said. "I can't make the pain go away. I can only make it worse."

Buffy brought her hand up to caress his cheek. He raised his eyes and looked at her. "I love you Spike. And I know that you love me. Why else would you get your soul back? Why did you do it? To punish yourself? Even I know better than that. You did it because a part of you hoped that it would save you, that it would be your redemption. Let me offer you redemption Spike. You can be a better man. I believe in you."

Something inside of him broke as she said it. His heart was tearing into pieces and there was little he could do to save himself. He wanted her to love him, had always wanted it. And now she was offering it to him. It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve it. But how on earth could he ever say no to Buffy? "Buffy, luv. I . . ."

"Yes, Spike?" She moved in closer.

"You know that I love you. You know that I don't deserve this."

"I know."

"But if it's what you want, really what you want . . ."

"It is." She put her arms around his neck and closed the distance between them.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"Buffy, I never meant to hurt you. Never." He was almost crying now, his voice choked with emotion. "If I could go back and . . ."

"It's all right." She smoothed a gentle hand over his brow and smiled at him. "I know."

He searched her eyes. "Promise me, promise me something."

"What is it?"

"Promise me, if I ever do hurt you again, that you will kill me. That you'll do it without even a second thought."

"Only if I can live without you. Which I doubt. But if the day ever comes, I promise. Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

"Is that all you want?" Her breath lightly caressed his lips as she asked.

"No. But I don't have a right to . . ."

"Yes you do." She leaned closer and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "You have every right. I'm giving you the right. I love you Spike. And it's time we started over. Left all the nightmares behind us. It's time."

Spike stared down at Buffy, unsure of what to do. He had honestly thought that he'd never be this close to her again. Certainly thought that he'd never have the chance to touch her again. But there they were, Buffy asking him to be with her. It amazed him that she wasn't repulsed by his touch. She wanted him and he knew there was nothing in this world that he could deny her.

Spike tentatively caressed her cheek. "If at any time you change your mind . . ."

Spike heard the stake she had been holding hit the floor somewhere behind his back. "I won't." She pulled him down to her and kissed him again, passionately this time.

A low growl escaped Spike's throat as he returned the kiss. He leaned in and picked her up, his eyes desperately scanning the room as he realized there was no bed anymore. He had spent the past few nights sleeping on an old blanket on the floor. He'd figured he didn't deserve much better, so he hadn't bothered to find something else. 

Buffy laughed. "Maybe we should go upstairs."

"Believe me, it's not that much more comfortable up there." He swung his head upward to indicate the first floor.

"Well, it's not like we ever needed a bed before."

"Tonight, we do. Maybe we should . . ."

Buffy cut him off with a searing kiss. "It doesn't matter Spike. I just want you." She pulled his head down to hers again and kissed him heatedly. 

He crossed the room with her still in his arms, and lowered her to the blanket. So there would be no bed tonight. That didn't mean they weren't in heaven. He knew he didn't deserve this, but Buffy did. And all he ever wanted was to make her happy. It was what she deserved.

Buffy felt her chest tighten as Spike lowered himself down beside her. Her heart was racing and she could barely catch her breath. She had wanted him for so long. Worse, she had spent that entire time berating herself for wanting him. But now, it didn't matter. Finally, everything was all right. She loved Spike. She trusted Spike. And she didn't care what the world, or anyone else thought. He had done the unthinkable for her, and she loved him all the more for it.

"Spike," she whispered his name as he hovered above her, staring down into her eyes.

"Yes luv?"

"I love you." Buffy's eyes slowly drifted shut as she pulled him closer and covered his mouth with her own. Sweetly, tenderly she kissed him, wanting to savor every last moment of their coming together. It had been so long. 

Buffy had spent a couple of weeks having sex with Spike in her dreams, but as real and vivid as those encounters were, they couldn't compare to reality. They were nothing compared to reality. 

A desperate sob escaped Buffy's throat, as Spike broke away and began kissing her neck. With gentle, almost tentative, grace, he caressed her skin with his lips. She could feel the heat building up inside of her; a slow, burning hunger that was beginning to consume. 

Slowly, Spike slid two powerful hands up under Buffy's blouse. The feel of his cool hands skimming her heated flesh sent a chill up her spine. Before Buffy could even protest, Spike pulled away from her again, and in one swift move, pulled the offending garment right over her head. 

Buffy lay resting on her elbows now, staring heatedly at Spike. His gaze was boring into her, his eyes dark with passion and desire. Even so, Buffy sensed a feeling of reluctance on his part. The last time they had been this close had been that fateful night last Spring. That night that she had thought would forever hang over their relationship like its own dark cloud. She couldn't blame Spike for being reluctant. But she needed him now.

Buffy refused to move. She just continued to stare at Spike, hoping that her own arousal would be enough to urge him on. It was. After tearing his eyes away from her for the briefest moment, Spike turned back to stare at her, pure, animal heat burning behind his sapphire eyes, setting his newfound soul ablaze.

He crawled forward, catlike, languidly spreading his body over hers in a predatory fashion. Buffy felt her body tense; every muscle instantly aware of his nearness, every nerve humming with excitement. 

Spike pulled back slightly, sweeping his eyes possessively over every inch of her body. Buffy could feel her limbs trembling, just with his phantom caress. She wanted him. And soon. 

Just when she thought she could stand his scrutiny no longer, her body yearning for him to do with his hands what he was doing with his eyes, Spike finally brought his fingers down against her flesh, and began to, ever so slowly, remove her clothing.

Buffy sucked in a sharp breath as Spike's hands grazed her skin. He refused to touch her directly. Instead, he tortured her by only touching her clothing, occasionally allowing the briefest contact with her bare flesh. 

First, he unhooked the clasp on her bra. He watched intently as the straps slowly slid down Buffy's arms to reveal the creamy expanse of her breasts. His eyes upon her were almost enough to send her over the edge. The way he looked at her. She could feel his eyes burning her skin, the sensation nearly unbearable.

"Spike," she whimpered, wanting to feel him for real.

Next, he lowered his hand to the waistband of her jeans. He skimmed a tantalizing finger under the band, before finally undoing the button. As he pulled the zipper down, he was sure to use just enough pressure to make her moan. Buffy threw her head back and closed her eyes, desperately enjoying the feel of his hand moving over that most sensitive part of her body. "Spike." Buffy arched up into him, wanting to feel more, trying to increase the pressure. But he pulled away.

Buffy opened her eyes, her vision barely able to focus on the man in front of her. Spike was smiling wickedly and Buffy felt the overwhelming urge to slap him.

Apparently taking pity on her, Spike moved forward, and in one deft move, freed Buffy from the confines of her tight, black jeans. A moment later, her panties followed, and suddenly, she was lying naked in front of him.

Buffy could feel the heat pulsing between her legs - begging, crying out for him. She wanted him so desperately and he wasn't giving her anything. Wasn't he the one who was supposed to be getting tortured here? Wasn't he the one who thought he deserved this kind of abuse? It just wasn't fair.

Before she had a chance to tell Spike exactly what was on her mind, he pulled away from her and stripped off the remainder of his own clothing. And suddenly, Buffy didn't feel so neglected anymore. Just the sight of him, naked and aroused, was enough for her. She knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. Whatever torture he was putting her through, they were on equal ground.

Finally, Spike lowered himself over her again. He wrapped one arm about her waist and pressed her into the blanket beneath him. She could feel all of him now, his cool flesh instantly warming with her raging body heat. It was heaven. Buffy wanted to touch him everywhere at once, to feel every inch of his skin making contact with hers. She couldn't get close enough to him, even as she pressed her body against his.

Without saying a single word, Spike kissed her again, this time with a passion and ferocity they had both been long denied. Buffy nearly cried, as Spike pulled away again and began kissing and licking his way down her body. It was the most exquisite torture, the feel of his mouth worshipping her quivering flesh. He lavished her with the sweetest, most torturous attention, making sure to touch every one of her most sensitive spots. Buffy wanted to scream. She was through playing. She needed him, now. There would be time for foreplay later.

"Spike. Please," Buffy begged.

He must have believed the desperation in her voice, because he finally pulled himself away and looked her in the eyes. "Buffy." He nearly choked her name, his voice heavy with desire.

"I want you. Now. Please," she whimpered.

A small smile pulled at the corner of his sensuous lips. He stared down at her mouth, sending a new wave of heat coursing through her body. A moment later, he was kissing her again, only this time, he laid down on top of her, nudging her legs apart and settling himself between them.

Buffy moaned as she felt his hardened flesh press up against her moist warmth. She arched forward, desperately begging him to enter her. He willingly obliged.

Before she knew what was happening, Spike had eased himself inside of her. Instantly, Buffy began to rock her hips forward, trying to make deeper contact. She wanted to feel all of him within her. She wanted to be one with him.

With slow, measured thrusts, he moved within her. Buffy clasped onto his shoulders, unconsciously digging her nails into his back. He was torturing her on purpose. Holding back just enough to keep her going, to keep her dangling on that precipice, desperate for release.

He knew her so well. Too well. Knew exactly what she liked, what she wanted, what she needed to send her crashing over the edge. And he was keeping all that from her. 

Buffy was nearly ready to scream, to flip Spike over and take control herself, when he finally relented and began to pick up the pace. Buffy raised her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, urging him onward to his own fulfillment. She had no desire to be selfish. She wanted this as much for Spike as she did for herself. It was what they had waited for for so long. What they deserved. To finally stop fighting, to finally stop hurting, and to actually love. 

With a low, animal roar, Spike thrust inside her one last time. He knew exactly how her body would react. Instantly, she began to contract around him, her body pulsating with sweet release. Tears were stinging behind her eyes, as she felt herself spasming around him.

Spike had found his own release, she knew. She had felt the change in his body, felt him come inside of her. It was wonderful. Complete and utter fulfillment.

When they had both finally recovered enough to move, Spike moved away from Buffy. Reaching across her, he pulled the edge of the blanket over them, wrapping Buffy in tightly by his side. She rested her head against his chest and let her eyes drift closed.

With a gentle tenderness, Spike began to stroke the flesh of her bare arm. Buffy couldn't help but smile at the sweet, familiar gesture. She remembered him touching her in much the same way in her first dream. 

"Spike?"

"Yeah, luv?"

"Why did you torture me?" Buffy pushed up on her elbow to glare down at him.

"What? Torture? Torture's not my thing pet. I know the old grandsire likes it, but I've never really gone in for--"

Buffy cocked an eyebrow and cut him off with a sharp glare.

"Oh, all right. Fair's fair, s'all."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin'."

"Nothing?"

"Just that, you remember those damned awful nightmares I was having? _We_ were having?"

"Yeah?"  


"Well, last one? You used me as your very own human pincushion. That's all. Sorry luv, but payback's a bitch."

"Oh really?" Buffy said, cocking an eyebrow and sliding her hand below the blanket. "So, let's get this straight." She put her hand on his thigh and began tracing light patterns there with her fingers. "I tortured you. Then you tortured me. You know what that means, don't you?"

"That we're even?"

"That it's my turn to torture you again Spike. You think you're up for it?" 

She saw the muscle in his neck tighten as she brought her fingers dangerously close to his hardening flesh. She refused to touch him just yet.

"Yeah, pet. I'm up for anything," he said tightly, barely able to speak. 

"Good," Buffy said, lowering her face to his, "because, I think this is what you deserve."

END


End file.
